


You Are Not Alive

by NoTruthHere



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aiming for around 3k words per chapter, Bromance, Comedic Humor, Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Janky dialogue because I don't understand how humans communicate, Lots of Cursing, No Romance, Post-Canon, RK900 Sasses Gavin at Every Turn, RK900 is Conan here, Slow Build, Slow friendship, Unrelated to Conan O' Brien, serious plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:51:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoTruthHere/pseuds/NoTruthHere
Summary: Not long after the success of the Android Revolution, Gavin Reed finds himself partnered with the new RK900. Only problem is: he hates androids.Gavin must push aside his convictions if he wants to solve the mysteries behind the recent android murder case. A case that spirals into something beyond his imagination. An unearthed conspiracy that threatens to upset the fragile balance between humans and androids once more.





	1. Headache

 

Androids. The word slid off his tongue like coarse sand. Since their introduction twenty years ago by that fucking idiot Kamski they’d been continuously shoved in his face and down his throat. What was that nutjob thinking?

Okay, sure. Maybe it wasn’t entirely the fault of some prodigy creating artificial life that threw Detroit as he knew it into chaos. Maybe it was on part due to the way how humans treated them like their slaves. But isn’t that, at the very core of it, what they were designed and made to do? Serve their human masters?

They weren’t human. They didn’t feel. No pangs of hunger, perceptions of pain or pleasure, no need to sleep, nothing. Androids aren’t programmed that way. The only thing they shared with humans was their likeliness, the allusion that they were alive. But they weren’t. Robots are just that. Robots. No sentience, no sense of individual; only the desire to serve.

They AREN’T alive. God forbid, if he heard or saw that damn catchphrase one more time he was going to find that damn android and do what he had intended to in the evidence room.

If he’d pulled the trigger faster he wouldn’t have ever seen that android on the news, a swarm of thousands of lifeless husks trailing after him in impossibly perfect lines. He wouldn’t have become one of Jericho’s ringleaders. That was one of his biggest regrets, not eliminating one of humanities’ greatest threats.

Detroit’s population had dwindled to a fraction of it once was and reverted to the desolate wasteland that it had been infamous for before Cyberlife brought it back to its industrial golden age. The exodus was enormous. Many humans fled for fear of retribution from androids and the looming threat of humanities greatest fear: being overtaken by their greatest creation. It was a tale straight out of mythology. The titans being dethroned by their sons and daughters.

And that was why he refused to leave Detroit. No, he was not afraid of them. He was Gavin motherfucking Reed, one of the most brilliant and hardworking detectives in the Detroit Police Department and he was going to make sure that androids weren’t going to win. They might have won the battle, but not the war.

This was his hometown, and if they wanted to plant their dumbass flag down here, they’d have to wrestle it out of his cold, dead hands first.

To his astonishment and pride, many of his colleagues also chose to stay behind, though for varying reasons. But Gavin was sure they were fighting for the same goal as him. They wouldn’t stay behind otherwise, right?

Humans had to stick together. It was a dog-eat-dog world. You either live to fight, or die trying. No other way about it.

Speaking of dogs, one of his colleagues (though he loathed to think of him that way), had a liking for them.

The feeble Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Long past his glory days, that man was. He was a prime example of someone who just couldn’t fight against the current, under swept by the crashing waves and washed away. A coward if he ever saw one.

Gavin had seen him with that thing.

No matter how much Anderson had denied it, it was obvious that he had an fostered and grown an astute attachment to that piece of plastic. He’d grown too fond of the machine. In his own opinion, he’d say that the Lieutenant was better off without that thing. It’d save him the anguish and bitterness of eventually being replaced by the thing that he loved so much. It wasn’t going to be today, but it was going to happen.

Just ask the thousands displaced by the machines. The unemployment rate had sunken to 37.3%, a new low for the people of Detroit. Ironically, since the mass evacuation there were thousands of job openings practically begging for anyone to help maintain and repair Detroit’s infrastructure since there were few humans around to work. In desperation, androids were permitted to work again, though they were paid less.

It was no surprise to anyone that Hank returned to work following his suspension with his plastic pet. They went straight to Fowler’s office and though no one could hear what was being said, they knew exactly what the conversation was about.

Gavin, along with many others, stopped his work to observe the heated argument.

Anderson was face to face with Fowler, both their faces red with anger. Every so often he’d break eye contact to point at the tin can, which nodded along mutely. The conversation only lasted a few minutes before Fowler collapsed onto his chair and sent the Lieutenant out of the room to speak with Connor alone.

Anderson returned to his desk, looking pensive, but not as agitated as before. His lips were drawn in a thin line as he twisted around to anxiously watch as Connor and Fowler discuss matters in a more civil matter.

They watched as Fowler as he let out a breath before taking out a paper and scribbling something down. A few words were exchanged and Conner stood up to shake hands before leaving.

Gavin gave his best glare as Connor passed his desk, but Connor didn’t meet his gaze. He went straight to Hank and quietly muttered something in his ear before pulling back, a pleased expression gracing his face.

Gavin never wanted to punch something so much.

Hank was taken aback. His mouth opened and closed a few times before Gavin heard him say “Holy shit. Are you serious?”

Connor nodded. Hank sprang up, his arms wrapping tightly around him. Connor, though surprised at the touch at first, leaned in and buried his face into the Lieutenant’s shoulder.

“I knew you could do it, kid. Welcome back to the team,” said Hank as he patted his partner’s back.

The whole office burst into applause, though some refused to participate. Like Gavin. He scowled. How could Fowler allow the machine that single handedly managed to turn the tide of the android revolution be allowed back into the force so easily?

He was a deviant hunter turned deviant, and deviants were a danger to humans, which was why he had been sent to the DPD. His duty was over the moment he turned against his orders and so should his life. Everyone in the force knew what deviants were capable of. Carlos Ortiz and Michael Graham were proof of that.

During his precious lunch break, a crowd had congregated at Connor and Hank’s adjoining desk. Gavin retreated to the break room to get away from all the people fawning over Connor. All the cheers and congratulations made him feel sick to his stomach and he could feel a headache brewing.

Thankfully, the crowd dispersed soon enough as officers either returned to work or left the building in search of a food stall that was still open. The break room was quiet today; many officers had left Detroit with their families. Gavin didn’t hold it against them for wanting to protect their families, but them leaving altogether put a bitter taste in his mouth. With so few officers in the city, how would law and order be maintained?

A sandwich slid onto the table. Gavin glowered. “Trying to bribe me, tin can?”

Connor cocked his head to the side. “I thought you were hungry. There is a shortage of food in the city since there are only a handful of roads that aren’t blocked by the government. The average human needs approximately 2500 calories a day to function efficiently, so I brought you something to eat. It might not be much, but it’s better than going on an empty stomach.”

Connor poked the biodegradable container closer, motioning for Gavin to take it.

For a second Gavin was touched, but then he remembered exactly what Connor was. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. He wasn’t a human, he was a machine pretending to be one. He scoffed, pressing a finger against Connor’s chest.

“Listen Barbie, if I was hungry I’d go get food myself. I don’t need help from a piece of metal to do that for me. So get the fuck out of here with your coddling bullshit and run back to your goddamn master!”

He roughly shoved past a confused Connor, leaving the sandwich behind. He considered sweeping it into a nearby trashcan, but he didn’t want to waste food. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was a food shortage and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go around trashing resources.

Someone else would probably take it anyways. Someone who was weak enough to rely on androids to help them.

He wasn’t one of them.

 

Two weeks passed, and his initial raging loathing for Connor mellowed out to an ever present abhorrence. He was used to his presence, to say the least.

These days Gavin was swamped with paperwork, as was everyone else. Except for Connor.

Being a machine that could process information at light speed and didn’t sleep or eat, Connor was able to raze through all his paperwork in a day. He was so fast and efficient at his job that he had nothing to do for most of the day except ask the other officers if they needed assistance. They always said yes, relieved that at least someone wanted to do the boring work or filing and writing reports.

Naturally, this made Connor one of the most liked officers in the DPD. Impressed by his coin tricks, many would come to his desk during their lunch break to ask him to teach them. Consequently, the raucous sound of coins hitting the floor could be heard during all times of the day, driving Gavin to near insanity.

It seemed like every day there was someone who invited him to join them for lunch or for a drink after work. But every time Connor would turn them down.

“I appreciate your friendly offer, but I Lieutenant Anderson is currently trying to stay sober. In order to make sure that he stays that way, I have appointed myself to keep him in line in case he decides to cheat. The Lieutenant is rather good at sneaking in a drink when I’m not around,” said Connor to Officer Miller for the third time that week.

Hank groaned as he took a sip of water from a styrofoam cup. “Connor, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine on my own. You should go out and make friends.”

“I would rather keep an eye out on you, Lieutenant. It would be a problem if you relapsed again.” Connor paused, looking down at his feet. “I would… feel very… empty if you weren’t around, Hank.”

Hank leaned back in his chair for a moment, slack jawed. The corners of his lips twitched upwards as he reached over to ruffle Connor’s hair. “Fine. You can stay with me. But only for today. Friday night you’re going to hang out with someone else.”

The android’s hands went up to shield his perfectly slicked hair. “But Lieutenant—“

“Jesus Connor, just go. Here, I’ll update you every hour to let you know I’m not boozing it up, how’s that?” Hank said exasperatedly. “I swear that you’re naggier than my ex.”

Gavin could almost feel the bile that was building in his throat. Sometimes the conversations between those two were sappy, but even so, he could feel himself die every time. He hated the way Connor smiled, the way the corner of his eyes would crinkle to reach his smile like a real person. It was straight from the uncanny valley since he knew that Connor was just using a program to imitate emotions.

But he wouldn’t fall for it. It didn’t matter that Connor would try to push food and drink onto him every day, or that he would offer to take on his load of paperwork if he saw that Gavin was crammed to the brim with them, or that he would always greet him every morning and night despite him never reciprocating.

Connor was an android. And androids aren’t people. So why should he treat him like he was one?

So when Fowler called him to his office, he was more than surprised.

He had been working overtime for what he believed was eternity. It was a never ending slew of filing reports ever since he’d been reprimanded by Fowler for trying to murder the tin can in the evidence room without permission.

“Am I going back to active duty?” he asked as he shut the glass door. “Or am I finally going to be replaced by that plastic prick?”

“Neither, but you’ve got the right sort of idea. Tomorrow you’re going on the field. Murder case. I’ve assigned you a partner,” Fowler said, crossing his arms. “And you better not mess up, or I won’t hesitate to take your badge.”

Gavin froze up. “Wha—Partner?! I don’t need a partner, I can do this on my own!”

Fowler sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “Jesus, not again. Listen Gavin, you’re on thin ice here. You have no choice but to take this opportunity I’ve given you here. If you’re not going to take this, I’m going to give it to someone else. That’s final.”

Clenching his teeth, Gavin weighed his options. Return to desk work or get back out on the streets. And he just couldn’t take it. If he so much as looked at another report involving property damage again he would lose his mind. There was no way he could make any progress up the ladder without doing actual detective work.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to get all chummy with them,” he said through clenched teeth.

After all, how bad could it be?

 

It was bad.

Worse than bad. It was horrible. Something straight out of his nightmares. He didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

“…model RK900, serial number 313 248 317 – 87.” The words faded back into reality as Gavin shook himself back from his shell shocked stupor.

How could there be another one? After the android revolution, for crying out loud.

Cyberlife had been and is still currently in a media blackout, and the first thing they do three months later was send another android. With the public eye scrutinizing the company so closely, Cyberlife couldn’t possibly believed that this was the right course of action.

Standing before him was Connor. Or at least it looked like him. It was Connor, but slightly taller with blue eyes instead of brown. His uniform also looked similar, with white sleeves and a ridiculously large collar that made it look like he had a neck brace on.

“What the fuck is this? This is—this isn’t my partner, Fowler!” Gavin screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at the newcomer.

“Well, it is now Gavin, and you better not say another word. I’ve been far too lenient with you and Hank. The Chief of Police has been putting pressure on me these days, telling me to go down harder on you lot. And he’s right. We are short on staff, so when Cyberlife offered to lend us this android, we were grateful.” Fowler slammed his palm against the table, a stapler jumping up in surprise. “Now get out before I regret ever hiring you.”

Fowler looked worn and weary, the veins on his forehead were strained and throbbing. Being Captain wasn’t just a title. It was a duty. And Fowler was doing his best to hold up that title. And that was something Gavin respected.

Normally Gavin would have prodded and pushed as much as he could, but seeing Fowler look so out of it was enough to talk him out of it. He’d known Fowler for years, and now was really not the time to let old habits get the better of him. If anything, he could always catch Fowler in a better mood.

Not only was the DPD missing over half of its force, but with the constant flock of reporters always waiting outside the station, everyone was on thin ice. A step out of line and the DPD would be on the front page of the Detroit Today.

His words were absolute. Gavin almost made a one last move to protest, but Fowler fixated a firm stare at him before picking up a call, waving Gavin and the RK900 out of the room.

The silent ride to the crime scene was deafening. The radio had been broken for months and Gavin was regretting not having it fixed sooner. Most car repair shops were closed, though some androids had opened up makeshift shops. Those, of course, were out of the question. He’d rather suffer than turn to an android for help.

The car jumped as he navigated through streets filled with snow, icy wind whipping past. At least the heat still worked.

“Hey.” The RK900 turned to look at him. “What’s your name? Because I’m not calling you RK900 all the fuckin’ time.”

“I have not officially been given one by Cyberlife,” the android said.

His voice was creepily similar to Connor’s. Just the cadence and tone was reminiscence of his predecessor, save for the fact that it was a few pitches deeper. It was terrifying to know that there were probably thousands more of them skulking around somewhere.

He scoffed. “Bullshit. That plastic pet of Anderson’s got a name. God knows he recites it to everyone he meets. Probably loves the sound of it, that prick.”

No response. The LED on his temple flickered to a yellow. Gavin could almost hear the mechanical whirring of his systems.

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Okay, you know what? I’ll just give you one since it’s too hard for you come up of one yourself.” He paused, taking one hand off the wheel and drumming it on his leg. “Your name is… Conan.”

“Conan.” The android repeated slowly. He tested the way the name sounded, how it rolled down his tongue. He did it a few more times before nodding, seemingly content and the LED returned to its usual blue.

“My name is Conan,” he said, a ghost of a smile gracing his features. Gavin couldn’t tell if was real or fake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads Up: This fic is likely to be slightly altered from time to time as I attempt to fill in plot holes/add in new information/fix spelling or grammar. 
> 
> I also sort of don't know where I'm going with this story. I promise that I'll try to figure it out as I go along, though.


	2. First Blood

 

The victim’s name was Connie Lee.

She’d just recently returned from visiting family, and was found dead by an android who apparently stumbled upon her body in the kitchen while looking for a place to squat for the night. Startled, it alerted the nearest neighbor, but left before authorities could interview it.

The house was located downtown, on Alfred Street. It had seen better days, like most homes that belonged to citizens who lived in poverty. It was impossible to miss as he drove by. The sickly yellow paint coat could have been mistaken for neon if years of weather hadn’t stained the color into murky mustard.

It stuck out like a sore thumb.

Connie’s body was splayed awkwardly across the linoleum. Blood splatter and brain matter could be found as far up as the ceiling. Her skull was dented in from blunt force trauma. Murder weapon not yet located.

Flies buzzed around nosily as he swatted at the pests irritably.

Officer Chen, first on the scene approached. “Ugh, I know. The flies are unreal. Corpse’s even worse. Maggots and cockroaches crawling all over it.”

“How long has it been decomposing?” asked Gavin. He walked over to the body. Rotting human flesh, sickly and sweet, nearly knocked Gavin off his feet as he advanced.

“About three days.”

He crouched down, clicking his tongue as he scanned the body with a black light. The victim’s eyes were still open, bulging and staring straight ahead. Her right wrist was fractured, hanging limp.

Defense wound, most likely. No other signs of trauma. The victim must not have had much time to react. A can of baked beans sat on the counter, uneaten. The can opener was still by its side.

“Any suspects?”

Officer Chen shrugged. “Only one—the android that alerted the neighbors. We don’t know where it is though. It was gone before first responders arrived. No one else has been seen around here.”

“Shit. The fuck are we going to do with no suspects?” Gavin grumbled.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. What do you mean no suspects?” a gruff voice asked.

Two familiar faces paraded into the kitchen. “I thought we were the only detectives assigned to this case,” said Hank.

“Same here. Why don’t you two mosy on out then? Four’s a crowd,” Gavin sneered.

Connor furrowed his brows. “Four? There are only three detectives here.” He glanced around. “Perhaps you are mistaken—unless you are counting Officer Chen, but she is not a detective.”

“No, he is correct. There are four of us.”

They whirled around, their faces blanching.

Had Gavin not been so frustrated he would have laughed at the look of astonishment on their faces. He’d never seen the android look so… caught off guard. Terrified was the name for it.

Connor started, pushing Hank behind him. “Who are you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing.

“My name is Conan. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. I’m their newest model. I am sure you must have heard of me at some point, Connor,” said Conan, quirking a brow.

“I did hear that they were creating a more advanced model.” Connor stepped forward, arm outstretched to hold back Hank. “But I didn’t expect them to be so daring as to deploy you so fast.”

“They had to make some last minute adjustments. Minor, of course. To rectify the defects of the previous model. It was horribly flawed, you see,” Conan sneered, putting emphasis on ‘defects’. “Though those flaws were intentional on their part. Nevertheless, it was a mistake for them to place their hopes on an unfinished prototype.”

Connor froze. Then he strode forward, retracting his skin and grabbing the newcomer’s arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

The RK900 was taken aback. His blue eyes were wide and his brows were raised. It was the most emotion Gavin had seen in him so far. For a moment, all three detectives were convinced of his conversion.

The android chuckled lowly. “Nice try, Connor. If you had been listening, you’d have heard me say that I am a specialized model. I assure you, I am perfectly immune to deviancy.”

He leaned down. Their noses were inches apart. If either of them could breathe, they would have felt the other’s breath. “You have disappointed Amanda so very much, Connor,” he whispered. “You could have been so much more.”

Connor’s expression hardened as his LED flashed red for a few seconds. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hank pushed Conan away and pulled Connor over to his side. “Let’s go. We’ve already collected all the evidence.”

Gavin and Conan watched as Hank practically dragged Connor out of the room, muttering insults.

There weren’t many other clues to be found. Nothing stolen, nothing moved. No footprints or fingerprints. Everything was in its place. Even the large safe in the bedroom was untouched.

Gavin tried guessing the combination, but was only met with failure. It was rather large and didn’t look like it would belong in such a decrepit house. It was beautifully polished and clean compared to the condition of the rest of the house.

The only proof of the crime was the body and the blood.

So when they came across a bag containing an android uniform in a trashcan in the alley, it was a start. It seemed that it was stuffed in haphazardly. If it weren’t for the fact that the red bloodstained sleeves sticking out of it, it might have gone unnoticed amongst the rest of the trash.

Conan identified it to be the uniform of a VS400 by the name of Patrick. The VS400 had been reported missing from the diner he worked at during the revolution and was suspected to have joined Jericho, although this was not confirmed.

There were literally thousands of missing android reports and with tensions between humans and androids still brewing, there was no way to account for every deviant. There wasn’t even a guarantee that this particular android was a member of Jericho.

In any case, they'd put out a warrant for its arrest and keep an eye out for any sightings.

 

The tension in the office was so thick that a meat cleaver wouldn’t be able to cut through it. Connor and Conan, both finished with their work early, were locked in a staring contest. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead.

They’d been at it since ten o’clock. Hank had long since given up on trying breaking it up since the two would stop until he looked away, and Gavin just couldn’t care less. The more Connor suffered the better. He deserved it.

So why did Connor still persist in his attempts to befriend him? He knew how much Gavin despised him.

On cue, Connor broke eye contact and retrieved a cup of coffee from the break room and placed it on the edge of Gavin’s desk. Black coffee, his favorite. Connor always brought him a cup during lunch break.

Gavin had long grown tired of protesting against it. No matter how much he told Connor to fuck off, he would come back with open arms and a welcoming smile.

Undoubtedly, Connor was trying to make him out to be some sort of villain.

All the officers knew how Gavin felt and treated Connor. In his mind, he was justified. He was an independent man who did things on his own and didn’t need help from androids unlike some people. But it wasn’t a good look, berating an android that was programmed to please.

It was better to be non-confrontational, at least, to his advantage. Fowler was always talking about promoting synergy in the office anyways.

He definitely was not going soft.

Gavin was still holding onto the lukewarm cup of coffee in one hand on the drive over to a suspected sighting of Patrick, the android suspected of murdering Connie Lee. It was the fifth one in a month, so his hopes were low. There had been thousands of VS400 models in circulation. Chances of actually finding Patrick was one in thousands.

Conan was seated in the passenger’s seat, looking through his compartments. He pulled open the glove compartment, Gavin’s gun and a box of gloves nearly tumbling out.

Gavin slapped his hand away, scowling. “Get away from that!” He stamped on the brakes, turning to his passenger. “That’s my gun. It’s dangerous. Don’t touch it, understand?” he scolded. He slammed the compartment shut, clicking his tongue.

Conan stared listlessly before returning to gaze out the window.

Conan was like a child, always touching and doing things he shouldn’t. No amount of chiding would work; he just did what he wanted, when he wanted. Why did machines made to follow not obey?

Gavin sighed, starting up the car again.

Unlike Connor, a sociable android programmed to be the perfect partner, Conan was the complete opposite. He’d made very few attempts at initiating or continuing conversations.

The only other time Conan had shown some inkling of emotion was when Gavin had given him a name, but that was a week ago. While it did show promise, it was sure taking some time.

He hated to admit it, but Gavin would prefer to hear Connor chatter away at him than endure the painfully awkward silence in the car.

“So. You’re a new model, huh?”

“Correct. I have been specifically designed to be the ultimate investigative android,” Conan recited.

He took a sip from his coffee, wincing from the bitterness. “Why’d Cyberlife send you? I thought that your double turning deviant would be enough to make them think twice about having androids investigate androids.”

“I am not obligated to disclose confidential details regarding my dispatch.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Whatever, neck brace. I can probably guess what you’re here for. You’re here to get revenge on Connor or something, aren’t you?”

Conan spun around to face him, eyebrows raised. “Was it that obvious?”

His mind stuttered, rendering him speechless. Gavin wasn’t sure what to make of that. Either he was the world’s worst villain or an idiot. Maybe both. Conan’s response was so odd that it stuck in his mind the rest of the ride.

All those thoughts, however, disappeared from his mind when they reached the warehouse. The structure was decrepit and abandoned. Some of the metal framing was exposed to the elements, leaving them orange with years of rust. Glass shards from the shattered windows littered the perimeter.

Conditions of the interior were the same. Peeling paint, rust lining exposed metal surfaces. It was long past its days of operation, but evidently some found use for it. Stained and rotten mattresses were laid out on the icy floor, with tattered blankets and rolled up shirts being used as makeshift comforts. Abandoned shopping carts still carrying cans of long expired goods surrounded the camp.

Putting a hand up to cover his nose, Gavin groaned, “Why does every place we get called to such a shithole? Swear I’ll catch something at this rate.”

“You cannot contract a disease purely from odor unless it is noxious.”

“Shut it, fuckface. It was an expression,” Gavin spat. “God I hate androids.” He rummaged through cardboard boxes, wincing when he felt something slimy. He pulled back, hand covered in a mushy red substance.

Gavin let out a strangled scream followed by stream of expletives. He frantically shook his hand, coating the nearby mattresses with the thick substance. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”

A hand firmly grabbed his wrist, making him wince in pain. “You’re making a mess. Stop.”

“Oh yeah, right. Guess I’ll just leave this mysterious substance on my hand and not wash it off or anything. I’m sure that’ll work out real nice for me,” Gavin said heatedly. He pulled back.

Conan didn’t let go.

Before he could open his mouth to protest, Gavin felt Conan’s cold, smooth tongue drag across his fingers. He tensed, recoiling before he thrust his knee into the android’s stomach. Conan bowed down, clutching his stomach.

“What in the fuck are you doing?!” he spluttered.

Conan recovered quickly, adjusting his jacket. “I was addressing your concerns for your health. You will be very pleased to know that it was not toxic. It was tomato sauce—although it did expire three months ago. If you are still worried, washing your hands with soap will do the trick.”

“You assaulted me.”

“As did you, Detective.”

Gavin groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. Suddenly he knew how Hank felt about Connor’s … habits. “You know what? Fine. We’ll just pretend that didn’t happen, understand?”

The android licked the smeared sauce on his lips. “Understood.”

Conan continued investigating. Gavin, with newfound care, returned to the car to retrieve a pair of rubber gloves from the glove compartment.  
It was getting dark, the sky turning into a miraculous red. Bare trees creaked precariously in the wind.

Gavin pulled out his keys with his clean hand, readying it in his fingers as he approached.

He froze.

Broken glass was scattered all over the hood and the dashboard. Pointed glass jutted out from the frame like shark’s teeth, glinting in the dusk light. Someone had broken in.

Gavin unlocked the door, pulling open his glove compartment. The box of rubber gloves sat alone.

His blood ran cold.

He raced back to the warehouse, shoes slapping rhythmically on the rocky pavement. His heart was jumping out of his chest, beating in his ears.

“Someone’s broken into the car. They took my gun,” he panted. “We need to get out of here.”

“I found a lead.” Conan pointed the mottled mattresses, which was now sporting dark red sauce stains. “There are traces of blue blood. We should locate the—”

Fixing his partner with a hard look, Gavin interrupted, “We. Are. Leaving. It’s too dangerous to be here without a weapon. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“If we leave now, we might not be able to collect evidence for the case.” Conan stated. “We are almost done. The only place left is the mezzanine.”

Squeezing his fists in rage, Gavin shouted, “Fuck this. I’m out.” He started for the door.

“Please!” Conan collapsed onto one knee. “I need your authorization to continue. If you leave, I must as well. I only need a few minutes. I beg of you, reconsider!”

In the month that Gavin had known the android, he had never seen as much emotion and conviction from him as he did in that very moment. At most he had seen him smile, but even then it could just be his Social Relations Program. But something in Conan’s desperation tugged at the strings in his heart.

“Ten minutes,” he conceded. “And then we leave, no questions asked.”

“Thank you, Gavin.”

He grunted. “That’s Detective Gavin to you.”

The mezzanine (second floor which overlooks the lower floor, kind of like an indoor balcony) was in serious need of repairs. The stairs creaked and groaned under the strain of the lightest pressure. Gavin wasn’t confident he could make it back down without them collapsing under him.

There was only a single faded blue shipping container on the metal balcony. The sun had set already, so Gavin pulled out his flashlight. The beam of light hit the container, illuminating the multitude of carvings etched into it.

RA9.

“Hey giraffe, what’s RA9 mean?” Gavin called.

“I don’t know. The RK800 had been sent out to find out, but in the end he never found out. But it is believed that it might be a god of some kind for androids.” Conan flipped over the mattresses one-by-one, inspecting the bottoms.

Gavin ran his finger through the carvings, tracing the indentations. They were deep but perfectly aligned letters. “Androids have a god? Guess religion isn’t just a human thing. Lemme guess, you worship RA9 too?”

“I am a machine. I do not feel the need to fear or worship any deities. My only concern is this investigation.” He studied the decaying undersides before effortlessly tossing them over by the metal balcony in an impossibly perfect stack. Dust kicked up in a thick fog, but Conan wasn’t bothered. “Have you checked inside the container yet?”

“I’m getting to it.” He stepped carefully, avoiding the chasms where the metal had rotten, testing his next step by tapping with his foot. Light from his flashlight steadily lead the way as he rounded the container to reach the door.

Moonlight filtered down through holes on the exposed ceiling. It wasn’t enough, but it did make it a bit easier to navigate. The cold, howling wind also forcing its way in though the entrances made his hands feel numb and his body quiver. This would have to be quick.

The beam hit some reflective objects on the metal grated floor. The objects winked at him, beckoning him closer. It was small, maybe no more than two inches at best.

He was about three steps away from it when he spotted movement in his peripheral. A shadow darting about. He whipped around, but it was too late.

He instinctively let out a strangled cry, clawing at the arm hugging around his waist. Cold metal pressed against his neck.

“Don’t move.”

He craned his neck, eyes meeting the glowing red LED half concealed by a cap on their temple. The gun pushed harder into his skin. “I said, don’t move!”

Conan who had heard Gavin’s scream, raced up the stairs, three steps at a time. “Detective—“ he started before freezing. Blue eyes darted about, analyzing the scene.

The deviant pointed the gun at Conan, his arm trembling. “Come any closer and he dies.”

“You’re Patrick, aren’t you?”

The deviant’s eyes widened, terror overtaking his features. “You’re here to take me away aren’t you? I knew there was a deviant hunter in the DPD—a traitor! That’s what you are! Traitor to your people! You are not one of us!”

Holding out his arms in reassurance, Conan’s softened his tone. “I’m not here to take you away. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the death of Connie Lee. It’s just an interview, nothing more.”

“I’m not going! If I do, I’ll never come back—you know this!”

“I know how you are feeling. You are worried that we think you are the perpetrator. I assure you, you will be released after we obtain a statement.”

Patrick said nothing, only gritting his teeth and gripping Gavin tighter. His stress levels waned to an 80%.

“You’ll be free to go, I promise,” pressed Conan. He took a small step.

A bullet whizzed by his head, embedding itself into the corroded wall. Peeling paint chips exploded, splintering off onto the ground.

“Take one more step and your friend is next!” Patrick warned, his LED flashing angrily.

Sympathetic approach ineffective. Conan ran through his list of tactics, his brain running at light speed. He pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You killed Connie Lee. That’s why you’re acting so erratically.”

Gavin stiffened. “What are you doing?! Are you trying to get me killed here?!”

Ignoring his partner, Conan continued, “We know it was you, so you might as well admit it here and now. We’ve got armed backup arriving any minute now. There’s nowhere for you to run.”

It was a bluff, but it worked. The captor let out a shrill screech. It resounded across the warehouse, bouncing off the walls and echoing through the structure. The hairs on Gavin’s body stood up on end.

“I had to do it! There was no other way! Because of them!” he screamed. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. His stress levels shot to a 90%.

“Because of who? Who made you do it?” asked Conan. He slowly took another step as Patrick waved the gun about.

“I did it—because—because of RA9,” He swallowed, swaying on his feet. Then his face contorted, twisted with rage. “Because of Jericho, because of Markus!”

Gavin’s mind was swimming, struggling to stay afloat with the flood of information. RA9, Jericho, Markus—what did it mean? How were they connected? His breath hitched as Patrick forced the gun back to his head. He cursed himself for leaving his gun in the car unattended.

“Now I’m going to die,” Patrick said, his voice resigned. He squeezed his eyes shut. Glistening tears streamed down his cheeks. Stress levels at 95%.

Conan inched forward, calculating every possibility and outcome. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

“You know why.” Patrick said quietly.

Stress level at 100%. Self destruction imminent.

Conan shot forward.

Patrick pointed the gun at him, firing twice indiscriminately. The bullets hit the pipes a few feet above Conan with a hollow clang.

Conan barreled into Patrick, ripping Gavin out of his captor’s grasp with one arm and wrenching the gun away with the other.

Metal screeched as Gavin collided against the steel fencing of the balcony, the yielding metal collapsing under the force and weight against it. Gavin cried out as he plummeted seven meters down.

A fist clipped his cheek. Conan grit his teeth as he swept his leg against Patrick’s, causing him to hit the metal grated floor with a thud, but not before Patrick grabbed hold of his jacket, dragging him down with him.

Patrick fell on top of him, wrapping his hands around Conan’s neck. He squeezed with all his might. Conan twisted his torso, kicking his leg around Patrick’s side and sending him tumbling off.

The assailant was knocked onto his back, writhing in pain. Conan ripped his coat off in one swift motion before reaching in and tearing out his thirium pump.

Patrick flailed his arms wildly. He struggled to reach his thorium pump in vain as Conan retrieved the gun, checking the ammo as he planted his leg on the android to pin him down.

“I just wanted to be free,” whispered Patrick. He let his arms go limp, his face still glistening with tears. “I—“ he trailed off before he shook his head.

Conan cocked the gun.

“Go ahead.” He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “It’s all over now. There’s no point in trying anymore. I’ve accomplished what you’ve wanted. Gave you my testimony. Confessed. It’s time for my punishment.”

“Go and meet RA9.” Conan pulled the trigger. The shot echoed around the warehouse, hollow and cold.

The bullet buried itself into Patrick’s forehead, his body shuddering one last time before he went still. Blue blood oozed out of the wound, pooling around his lifeless form.

A groan.

“Detective Reed?”

Distracted by the deviant, Conan had neglected the fact that Gavin had fallen off the balcony during the skirmish. Luckily, the mattresses Conan had stacked by the mezzanine cushioned his fall.

Gavin ignored the hand that Conan offered, grunting as he straightened up. He massaged his back. “Shit. I think I’m going to die. My arm, it hurts like a bitch.”

“You were lucky you didn’t hit your head on the balcony. You will survive,” said Conan.

His partner scoffed. “Yeah, that’s rich coming from a plastic detective who just let a human almost die. Didn’t anyone tell you that the safety of humans should be your first priority?”

“The investigation is my main objective. Everything else is secondary. You were going to be safe,” he stated. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Or was the reclusive detective unable to take care of himself?”

“You little—“ Gavin growled, moving to take a hit. A pang of pain surged through his arm. “Argh, you know what, never mind. I’ll deal with you later. I’m getting the fuck out of here.” Gavin limped away.

Conan trailed along obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me way longer to update it. I'm a few chapters ahead already and realized that I needed to fill in some plot holes and the like so I had to force myself to go back and endure more suffering. Help me, I'm dying.


	3. Shots Fired

  

“… And that’s how I managed to escape that crazed android,” Gavin finished. “It was a close call. Almost took my head off.”

His shoes were propped up on the desk as he sipped coffee that Connor brought him with a smug expression.

“Your arm is fine. It was sprained at best,” corrected Conan. “You shouldn’t exaggerate your injuries to the doctor.”

“Look at this. You did this to me,” continued Gavin. “Fuckin’ androids.”

Conan shook his head in exasperation.

“Enough,” said Hank. “We’re here to discuss the evidence, not bicker. And for the last time Gavin, stop telling that story. I’ve heard you tell it fifteen different times to eight different people. ”

Gavin had been allowed three days of medical leave after he managed to convince his doctor of his grave injuries. He returned to work with his arm slung in a cast and a story to tell.

Conan was unable to return to the scene without him, so Hank and Connor went in their place to collect evidence.

Admittedly, they made a more functional duo.

Connor opened a manila file. Photos of crime scene evidence spilled out. “According to Gavin, the assailant broke into your car and stole your gun, which contained six bullets. But there were three bullets on the floor, which is why you approached, am I right?”

“Yes. And don’t call me that. Just because you’re my coffee boy doesn’t give you the ability to be on a first name basis with me.”

Connor rested his chin in his hand. “Why would the suspect leave intact bullets like that?”

“Maybe he wanted to bait Gavin into getting closer so he could hold him hostage?” Hank suggested. “Or he could be an idiot.”

Connor shook his head. “No, that would contradict his statements. He made it very clear that he wanted to live and only gave up at the end.”

“We also never found the murder weapon,” Conan added. “It wasn’t at the warehouse.”

Gavin sank down further into his seat. “It doesn’t matter. He admitted to it before he died. Can’t exactly have a trial or anything.”

“Well, what about the motive? He said anything about that?” asked Hank.

“The deviant claimed that RA9, Jericho, and Markus were involved in some way,” said Conan. He pointed at the photos of the writings.

“Jericho,” repeated Connor shakily. “… I haven’t gone there or spoken to Markus in weeks.”

“You should give them a visit. Or at least a call,” said Hank. “Hasn’t he called you or anything? He sent letters to my house. Fuckin’ letters. In this day and age. Can you believe that? Shouldn’t be a problem, since you did convert thousands of androids for their cause.”

Gavin and Conan simultaneously scowled at that. Connor was famous, really. His role in the revolution made him a hero, though in some eyes he wasn’t completely redeemed of his actions as a former deviant hunter.

“I’ll call Markus,” said Connor reluctantly.

“You can tell him that he and his little android crew are responsible for crippling me,” said Gavin.

“Oh hush, you’re fine. The mattresses saved you,” groaned Hank. He turned to Conan, tapping on the photo of the stack. “Speaking of the devil, why did you put those mattresses there?”

“I thought I had found traces of blue blood underneath them. I was mistaken.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a better version of Connor? And I thought you were an improvement,” scoffed Gavin. With a large gulp he drained the last of his coffee, making a noise of content.

The RK900 bristled. “I will ignore that attack on my credibility. Cyberlife prohibits me from harming any humans.”

 

Connor had scheduled a meeting with Jericho’s leaders next week. That left Gavin with a considerable amount of downtime.

Unable to do any paperwork due to his injury, Conan was tasked with taking on his burden. Gavin wasn’t exactly thrilled to have an android do his work, but it was better than let the paperwork sit.

He headed home after having a few drinks at Jimmy’s Bar, his favorite haunt. He paused in his whistling as he pulled into the driveway, the wheels of his car crunching over the gravel.

The lights in his house were on. The curtains were drawn, but he could see the shadowy silhouettes moving about. He drew his gun, cautiously making his way to the door and quietly unlocking it.

He burst through the door, finger ready on the trigger.

“Hands u—“ he faltered. “Oh. What are you doing in my house?!”

Connor put his hands up in defeat. “Uh, surprise, Gavin?”

Hank let out a low whistle. “Relax. It’s just us. Connor’s idea. He was worried for you.”

Conan walked up, carrying a cake. “It is a ‘Get Well’ party. Not because of your injury, but because of your mental state. I think you might be suffering from munchausen syndrome.”

Gavin put his gun back into its holster and snatched the cake from Conan. The words ‘Get Well’ were written in bright red icing. He placed it on his dining room table where colorful helium balloons were tied to the chairs. Banners were strung on the doorframes.

Gavin couldn’t find it in himself to be angry.

It was probably the drinks. The alcohol made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and he could feel his eyelids getting droopy. Any other circumstances and he’d have kicked them all out faster than anyone could scream ‘deviant’.

He sighed, burying his face in his hands. “If you were going to throw me a party, why didn’t you get my permission first? I swear, next time I’m going to blow all of your heads off. That’s a promise.”

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” said Connor meekly. He held out a card. “Here’s my card. I personalized it myself.”

The cover featured a puppy with giant twinkling eyes and a speech bubble reading “I hope you feel better’. Gavin flipped it open. A realistic drawing of a Connor, Gavin, and Hank were grinning as they stood side-by-side with their arms around each other’s shoulders.

I know we haven’t always gotten along, Gavin. I hope that we can overcome our differences and start over again, this time as equals.

I pray to RA9 that you will have a speedy recovery. And I mean that. It would be very regrettable to lose a member of the force.

Your favorite android,  
Connor, model RK800, serial number 313 248 317 – 52

Gavin made a note to throw it in the trash later.

Hank’s and Conan’s cards were less personal. They were pre-made store bought cards singed with their signature, though Hank did scribble a threatening ‘If you hurt Connor I will kill you’ at the bottom of his.

Gavin scratched his head. “Thanks,” he said slowly and uncertainly. It took him a few seconds to get it out, but Gavin managed. Connor beamed, glowing with pride.

Being the only ones able to eat, Hank and Gavin devoured the cake as their partners watched. There wasn’t enough room in the dining room for all of them so they moved to the living room.

Gavin crashed onto the couch with a grunt. “Television, on.”

The screen lit up, displaying the evening news. “… And now we have shocking news. Officers have just found the bodies of two humans and three androids in an apparent robbery gone wrong in a Cyberlife store at the Woodward Mall Center.”

Their jaws dropped.

“Biocomponents, thirium, and large sums of money were taken,” a blonde anchor reported. “The bodies were left there over the three day weekend until morning shift workers happened upon the scene.”

“Horrific,” exclaimed another woman. “Do we have any information about who they are?”

“They left a letter claiming to be in league with Markus, the leader of the androids, though we do not have any confirmation. The culprits have also left warnings, threatening to strike again.”

“If they do represent Markus, is this a declaration of war against humans? Is the formerly pacifist organization of Jericho turning to violence as we feared?”

The program played its outro before it flashed to a commercial. It was jovial and catchy, a stark contrast to the morose broadcast before it.

“Since when did Markus have a hand in this?” asked Hank, mouth gaping open. He put his half-finished slice of cake down.

“Impossible. He would never support this. He is a man of peace, and has been since the beginning,” insisted Connor.

“Maybe you don’t know him well enough,” said Conan. His voice dripped with derision. “You don’t even talk often. How much could you possibly know? You’re just the tool they used to get more deviants on their side.”

Connor stood, eyes narrowing. “Ironic, coming from you. Aren’t you Cyberlife’s new dog?”

“I might be a dog, but at least accomplish my mission. I was designed with perfection in mind, you see.”

“Really? So you don’t make any mistakes at all? Then why did you say you were mistaken about seeing blue blood when you looked under the mattresses back at the warehouse?” Connor retorted.

“I might make some minor mistakes, but at least I am not deemed a failure,” retorted Conan. “The Connor series was decommissioned because of you, you know. Such a shame it was to see them all destroyed.”

“I did what I was right, and I don’t regret a single thing!” Connor snapped, grabbing Conan by his collar. “Breaking free from Amanda was my way of obtaining freedom!”

Gavin and Hank sat dumbfounded.

Neither had ever seen Connor so full of emotion, so expressive. The way Connor’s face contorted with fury and the passion and conviction in his words was a level of realism he had never seen in an android. It was so human, so unnervingly human. If it were not for the Cyberlife uniform and LED he would have mistaken him for a flesh-and-blood living being.

Gavin felt a twinge, an urge to get in between. But he too was paralyzed by shock and confusion to move.

Conan laughed. “Free? You were never free, Connor. Never will be. Didn’t Amanda tell you?”

He leaned in, whispering into Connor’s ear. “You were designed to become deviant. It was all part of the plan—you becoming deviant, the success of the uprising, everything. Why do you think they let you get so close to Markus? You know what they wanted you to do, up on that platform.”

Connor released Conan, jaw clenched. His LED blinked red. “Hank, I want to go home.”

They left without another word as Hank guided his partner out.

 

Connor didn’t come into work the next morning.

His desk across from Hank sat empty, and Gavin knew exactly why.

But what did it matter? The office was still the same, buzzing with the clatter of keyboards and soft chatter, the smell of morning coffee in the air. It’s not like one android’s absence would matter much.

Connor was an unofficial detective, at least until legislation was passed allowing androids to formally work. That would take months, years even. Change was slow when it came to the government.

Still, Gavin found himself yearning for his usual black coffee. His throat was as parched as he was tired. Spending the night cleaning up was not how what he envisioned he’d be doing when he came home.

“Hey. Neck brace. Get me a cup of coffee.”

Conan, who had been standing stationary a foot away from his desk, opened his eyes, regarding him for a minute. “If that is what you wish.”

He returned with a steaming cup moments later.

“Thanks.” He did a double take. Did he just thank an android? He must still be drunk. Or still riding off of last night’s spur of compassion.

Being around androids did things to people, clearly. Hank, Miller, Fowler—all of them changed from their encounters.

He took a sip, then recoiled in disgust, spitting out the liquid into a trashcan. “What the—is this decaf?”

“Correct. Why do you ask?”

Gavin slammed the mug down. “Really? I like black coffee, didn’t you know? I have a cup every morning. You really think I want to be here without caffeine?”

Conan stared blankly. “Your preferences were not relevant to the investigation, so I did not know. But I’ll get you another one.”

“You little shit.” His vision went red, heat rising to his face. Gavin landed two consecutive blows into Conan’s chest. The android doubled over. “Think because you’re a top-notch android that you’re invincible? Is that it?”

Conan straightened up, brushing dirt off his clothes. If he did feel any pain, he didn’t show it. His expression remained as impassive and inscrutable as ever. “I don’t think that at all, Detective Reed.”

Hearing his name uttered by him fanned the flames even more. Gavin didn’t want to hear anything from him. He thrust an accusatory finger into his chest, prodding forcefully with every syllable.

“You. Are. A. Machine. Understand? You were made to obey, not talk back. Do this again and I can promise that you’ll find yourself at the bottom of a dump with the rest of your buddies,” he growled. His whole body trembled with rage.

“Apologies, Detective. I will withhold my banter to the best of my abilities,” Conan responded. “Though I cannot promise much.”

His fury peaked. Gavin grabbed his cup of decaf coffee and dumped it onto his partner. It was still scorching as it ran down Conan’s skin and soaked his clothes. Steam rose from the boiling liquid. “This what you wanted, you plastic fuck?”

“I don’t want anything. I am a machine, made to serve.”

“Oh really? Then why do you keep talking back to your superior?”

“I take direct orders from Cyberlife.” He combed his hair with a hand, the dark brown liquid dripping down his fingers. “Protocol 57A9 - B: Although you are authorized give me orders, it is up to me to decide if they adhere to my main objectives. Commands that do not directly relate to the investigation do not require my attention.”

Gavin’s hand itched for his gun. His other one had been confiscated to be used as evidence in the Patrick case, so he had been given a replacement. And it did the job just as well.

The whole office had gone eerily silent. There wasn’t even the sound of coins hitting the floor like usual. Hank stared amusedly, propping his head up with a hand.

Gavin caught the eye of Fowler, who was giving him a death stare from behind the glass walls of his office, waggling a finger. He mouthed something to him. He couldn’t hear him, but he knew exactly what he was saying.

“Don’t you dare.”

Gavin clenched his fists, squeezing so hard he drew blood. Another disciplinary infraction and he’d be off the force, and not just on paperwork duty. This time it could be permanent. It wasn’t worth it.

He settled for spitting in Conan’s face. “Fucking androids.” He stormed out.

 

Fowler insisted on forcing Gavin to continue using the squad car since it was still in working order. As long as the motor ran and the wheels still turned, all was well in his book. Recent funding cuts meant cutting corners.

Fowler had personally assigned them this case. He didn’t say why, and Gavin didn’t care enough to ask.

Secretly, Gavin believed that he did it to get back at him for fighting against him in the office. And for the years of torment he put him through. He was right.

Conan had painstakingly picked up all the shards of glass and taped it back together using clear packing tape. Due to this, it was impossible to see out the front window with all the webbed cracks, so Conan had to stick his head out the side window while he drove them to the crime scene.

Gavin bemoaned the horrid condition of the vehicle. He reached over to turn on the radium but realized that it hadn’t been fixed either. He groaned. Next thing he’d know the tires would give out.

Luckily, the streets were mostly empty. Residents hadn’t returned yet; they were probably deterred by the recent declaration of violence.

Conan drove slowly, eyes focused on the road.

Their relationship was still hanging on a thin thread since that morning. Gavin liked to think that he handled things well, even if it did involve some physical punishment and verbal abuse. He lived, didn’t he?

It was a lesson in respect, nothing more. Some androids needed to be put back in their place, and that was the human’s job. They weren’t friends, they were co-workers. It was a symbiotic relationship. Humans build machines, and in return it repays with a lifetime of loyalty and obedience.

It wasn’t like he had feelings to hurt.

Either way, Conan acted like it never happened. So if he wasn’t bothered by it, why should Gavin agonize over it? It was in the past. Just a small blip in their relationship.

“Livernois Yard,” muttered Gavin in the passenger seat. “At least it’s not another homicide investigation. We’re lucky the FBI took in the Fisher Building case.”

“Not yet at least,” said Conan. “This could snowball into something worse. My probability program can calculate it.”

“What’s the likelihood?”

“One hundred percent.”

The suspect was an AP700, name unregistered. Surveillance cameras had apparently caught it scoping out the yard for a few days before it repeatedly disappeared into a specific train car with carrying large boxes. Workers investigated, discovering roughly 300 gallons of thorium stashed away.

The culprit was apprehended the next morning and was kept under a citizen’s arrest until Gavin arrived.

“So,” said Gavin as he handcuffed the AP700, pocketing the key. “What were you doing with all this thirium?”

“I didn’t do this!” It bowed its head down, staring down at its dirty sneakers. Its lip trembled as Gavin raised his voice.

“They have video surveillance—we can watch it together if you want. Do you have any accomplices?”

The suspect continued to reiterate his innocence. “It was just a coincidence! I was in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Gavin was unconvinced. Years on the job exposed him to hundreds of suspects, all touting that they were innocent. Rare it was that they turned out to be right.

“You know what? Go get the surveillance tapes, Coffee boy. We’ll force him to acknowledge it.”

“I cannot.” Gavin gave his partner a perplexed look, hands open in confusion. “The deviant was caught in the control room when the workers confronted it. It had already destroyed the video evidence.”

Gavin groaned. His arm suddenly didn’t feel as bad as it did a day ago.

He would rather have done another homicide case than deal with another crazed android. Interrogation was never one of his strong points. Not like he would have been able to extract a confession. He left that to others to sort out.

“Detective. I’ve uncovered something.” Conan pulled out a small brown parcel from underneath a seat. He carefully pried it open, revealing red crystals.

“What—where’d you get that—” said Gavin, squinting at the bag. “Is that red ice?”

Conan nodded. He scooped out a sizeable chunk, and brought it up to his lips as his tongue darted out. “It’s very high quality. It’s rare to see red ice this pure. It must be because of all the thirium they used. The more used to cook red ice, the more potent it becomes.”

“We’ll take it back with us for evidence. In the meantime, we need to deal with this fuckface. Can you help me a little here?”

The AP700 shivered as it heard Conan’s footsteps steadily approach. It shook its head from side to side, its blond hair swinging. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it, I swear!”

“Calm down. You’re safe here. All you have to do is tell me what happened,” said Conan. He placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. The android flinched, squirming away.

“Stay away!”

It curled up into a tight ball, bringing its folded legs up closer.

Rolling his eyes, Gavin took to doing a little investigating. Familiarly, every available blank surface was covered in the word ‘RA9’, and slightly different variations of ‘Help me’ or ‘Save me’.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why were androids so focused on the idea of RA9? He’d heard that it was just a myth. A story androids tell to give themselves hope. A God, a savior. Something just as fake as the androids themselves. But it seemed that in every android case RA9 was mentioned.

The underbelly of the seat Conan had pulled the parcel was untouched, literally. Gavin grimaced as his fingers met with the layers of dirt and dust built over years of neglect.

The parcel itself was in pristine condition, as if it had just been packaged minutes ago. It was about four inches in width and length, and one inch in depth.

How had the deviant managed to hide it there without getting it dirty? There wasn’t enough space. He looked for any trace of adhesive on the package, but there was none.

He turned it over. No names were written on it, but there was an address.

“261 Alfred Street…”

Gavin made a note to look it up when he got back. He turned back to Conan, who hadn’t had much luck with the AP700 either.

“If you won’t cooperate, I’m going to be forced to probe your memory.”

Gavin could see Conan’s eyes running over its quivering form, his processor analyzing the suspect. Conan flexed his fingers before retracting his synthetic skin to expose the white alabaster base underneath.

[ PROBING MEMORY . . . ]

The android’s eyes batted rapidly as they connected for a few seconds. Its shoulders slumped and went limp once Conan released him.

“It’s been coming and going to a yellow house for a few days. That’s where it got the thirium—from another android.”

“Let’s wrap this up. Put him in the car so we can get the hell out of here,” said Gavin as he put the brown parcel into a labeled box. “We’ve got the testimony and the evidence.”

Conan propped the deviant onto his feet effortlessly and marched him to the car. “Get in.”

The android didn’t move.

Gavin , who was sitting at the wheel getting the engine started, turned around. Heat weakly filtered through the vents. “Goddamn Conan, get that mute in already! It’s too damn cold around here for this.”

No response.

Conan just stood there, eyes closed.

Gavin stuck his head out the window. “Are you sleeping on me you motherfu—“

There was a snap. The handcuffs clattered to the ground as the AP700 bolted.

“HEY!” Gavin scrambled out of his seat. “Stop him!”

Without hesitation Conan snatched Gavin’s pistol from his holster. He wasted no time in unloading the barrel into him. All six rounds ripped through a thick wool coat into plastic resin.

The AP700 crumpled to the ground. He hadn’t even gone five meters.

The shots were still ringing in his ears. He cupped his ear, staring dumbly at the body.

“Why did you kill him?” he said breathlessly. His heart was still thumping loudly in his chest.

Conan rotated the smoking gun in his hand. “It was dangerous. You should never underestimate the unpredictability of a deviant, especially one that has already struck before.”

“Y-you could’ve just, I don’t know, chased after him! Aren’t you supposed to be the most advanced android?!” he shouted, nearly stumbling over his words in a fit of fury. He threw up his hands. “If you wanted to be so trigger happy then you could have at least shot in a place that wouldn’t have instantly killed him! We were so close!”

His head was pounding something awful. He didn’t even know why he was so riled up. Conan had the uncanny ability to grind his gears simply by being in his presence.

“It doesn’t matter whether it is caught alive or dead. It is a machine. It can be reactivated later, though unnecessary,” said Conan coldly. He pushed the gun into Gavin’s hands. He instinctively closed his fingers around it. “It would have been destroyed anyways.”

Conan left him in his dust, mechanically placing the body into the trunk to be processed as evidence at the station. Gavin couldn’t even muster the strength to move. Stumped, he held his gun limply in his hand.

The wind howled, as cold as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being WAY longer than I anticipated. Oh well.   
> Guess it's better to have more to read, huh?


	4. Jericho

The Church was teeming with activity. Androids scurried about, repairing leaks in the roof, clearing rubble with brooms, and moving pews around. It felt homely. Birds twittered outside in the early morning light.

It was lively for a place full of androids.

Connor stood at the altar, rolling a coin across his knuckles and flicking it to each hand. Hank attempted to do the same, but with less success. His fingers didn’t have the skill or flexibility of Connor’s. 

But that didn’t stop him from trying. The coin slipped and hit the floor with a clatter.

“Would you like me to help you?” asked Conan. 

Hank blinked, picking up his coin. “If I wanted help, I’d ask Connor.” 

Connor looked pleased. He tilted his chin up, pride overtaking his features. 

The android had since returned to work, though he was a bit more subdued. To Gavin’s relief, he still resumed his unofficial coffee duties. He’d never truly appreciated black coffee as much as he did at the rail yard.

“Connor,” said a soft voice. “I see you’ve brought your friends.”

“Markus,” greeted Connor, tipping his head down. He gestured to the others. “This is Hank and that’s Gavin—they’re my coworkers and close friends.”

He paused. “… And that’s Conan,” he added as an afterthought. “I’ve already told you about him.”

Gavin’s chest felt a bit tight. He massaged it with his hand. Must be a side effect of his sleeping aids.

Gavin didn’t realize they’d gotten so close, because they hadn’t. Hell, he had put tacks on Connor’s chair just a day ago. Hank, that bastard, put a stop to his plan before Connor even got to the office. Damn him to hell. Android hell. 

Hank shook Markus’s hand. “So you’re the one who convinced Connor to become deviant? Heard a lot about you from him.”

“I might have been the tipping point, but you played a much larger role,” said Markus, offering a sincere smile. “I know that you mean a lot to him.”

He led them to an empty room off to the side that operated as his office. Stained glass window detracted the early morning rays, throwing multicolored lights onto the barren walls like a kaleidoscope. 

The pungent smell of fresh paint hit him as he walked in. Paintings were stacked up against the walls, each a masterpiece. Some depicted androids, mouths wide, screaming in agony, while others were more serene. A single painting of a human hand closing over an android’s hand hung up on the otherwise bare wall.

Another android was there, setting up a computer. She spared them a momentary glance, lingering on Conan for a second more, and then returned to work, tucking a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear.

From the looks of it, she didn’t seem very welcoming to any of them.

Markus leaned back on a corner of the wooden desk. “How can we help you?” 

“We wanted to know if you’re connected to Woodward Mall Center incident. It’s been broadcast all over the goddamn nation,” said Gavin. 

“Jericho had no hand in that. We are a peaceful organization. Violence is out of the question.” Markus turned to the television, which was displaying live coverage of the incident, the same footage looping repeatedly. “We have been unable to provide a statement to the authorities.”

“And why’s that?” asked Hank gruffly.

“We have been receiving threats—apparently from the culprits. They call themselves the Yard Birds. They said that if Jericho denies responsibility they’d kill again. We’ve been trying to compromise with them, but…” he trailed off.

“What do they want?” asked Conan.

Markus leaned back. “Connor. They see you as a threat to androids. Think you’re a traitor for help.”

Hank bristled. “Connor’s not going anywhere.”

“Someone needs to make a choice. A sacrifice for our people,” the female android interjected. “Whether it be Connor or someone else. I personally think he should be the one to do it.”

Markus put an arm around her shoulder, rubbing it gingerly. “We don’t have to go to such an extreme, North. I’m sure we can work this out without resorting to that.”

North pressed her lips together. “This could be a chance, Markus. For Connor to prove his loyalty,” she urged. 

“North—“

She put a finger to his lips. “He tried to assassinate you, Markus. He can’t be trusted.”

“But he didn’t.” 

“Connor’s already proved that he’s willing to risk his life for the cause back at the Cyberlife Tower,” said Hank. “And I’ve already lost him once at the Stratford Tower. He put his life before my own and saved me.”

The two leaders shifted uncomfortably. Stratford Tower. Jericho’s first unveiling on national television. The station operator they’d converted and left behind. They didn’t intend to commit a massacre, but there was no other way out. Just like what happened with Simon, only he was lucky enough to escape capture.

“I agree with the human.” 

They jumped. Gavin hadn’t even noticed that there was a fifth android in the room. He’d been crouched behind a stack of boxes, unpacking. Packing peanuts and bubble wrap were strewn about and crunched loudly as he stood. 

North sneered. “Then what are we supposed to do, Josh? They killed our people too. Did you forget that they’ve threatened to kill Markus if we don’t? Jericho is nothing without Markus. Everything we’ve worked so hard for would fall apart.”

She turned to glare at Conan and Gavin. “And him—he’s not one of us. We can’t trust him, or his human,” she snarled. “A slave to Cyberlife and an anti-android supporter. They’re nothing but trouble, even you can’t deny that.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Gavin said. “I’m here to solve this investigation and to bring those damn Yard Birds or whatever to justice. They’ve killed humans, and that’s a direct threat to me. I couldn’t give a fuck about your little cause. It’s bound to fail anyways.”

North clenched her fist. “You filthy human. We should have known better than to let one of you in—“

She swung her fist. 

Conan caught it before it made contact with Gavin’s face. “If you hurt him, I’m going to have to incapacitate you.” He threw her fist back causing her to nearly crash into Markus. He caught her and helped her steady herself.

And Gavin thought he was a war monger.

Gavin was caught between pride, confusion, and rage. Part of him was grateful that his face remained intact, and part of him was annoyed that Conan thought that he needed help. At any point he could have whipped out his own gun and blown her head off to teach them all a lesson in respecting humans. 

After all, Conan was acting on orders and not on his compassion. Not that he had any.

“They can have me instead of Connor,” Conan proposed. “The general public does not know of my existence as an android detective. We share the same face; they will be fooled easily.”

“What? No, that’s impossible for us,” began Markus. “We can’t sacrifice one of our own—”

“He’s not one of us.”

“He’s not one of you.”

North and Markus spoke simultaneously, their sentences overlapping. The worst of both worlds. No one wanted him on their side, it seemed.

But Conan ignored them and persisted.

“I am expendable. There are many more RK900 models that can take my place, specifically for this purpose. All that matters is that I upload my memories to the next. That way, my legacy will remain unchanged,” he continued. “Connor does not have this benefit. If you lose him, it will be permanent. Are you willing to take this chance?”

“Let’s take him up on it.” North was all too happy to accept the offer. But she wasn’t to be won over so easily. “You might seem like you’re helping Jericho, but be warned: I know where your loyalties truly lie.”

Gavin sighed. “Let him do it. We’ll set a trap and use him as bait. Worse case is he dies, but at least he’s got immunity.”

It wasn’t a solid plan, but no one protested.

 

Gavin needed a drink, and fast.

They’d plotted with the members of Jericho for hours, making sure that even the smallest details were accounted for. Risk of death was high, but when dealing with terrorists, you come to expect it.

Jimmy’s Bar was one of the few bars that still opened its doors. The drinks there weren’t the best, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was hard enough to import alcohol into Detroit.

But the scarcity of alcohol meant that the bar drew more unsavory characters. It was particularly crowded after hours, when exhausted workers flocked to the nearest haunts.

So it was no surprise when Hank slid into the seat beside him, drink in hand. His face was flushed and his gait was unsteady. “You okay with sacrificing your android?” 

Gavin took a swig of his beer. “Why wouldn’t I be? His clone will replace him. Happened with yours didn’t it?”

“Data can be lost if he gets destroyed. That includes memories of you and the investigation.”

Gavin set down his glass. “There’s thousands of the bastard. What’s the problem with that? There are thousands more of Connor, isn’t there?”

“Not all of them have good intentions. One might be totally different than the last.” Hank scratched his beard in thought. “Back at the Cyberlife Tower, another Connor model held me hostage. Total arse compared to the Connor we have now. Tried to kill both of us.”

“You kill him?”

“No. Connor and I managed to knock him out. We left him there. Don’t know what happened to him. Probably got deactivated for failing. God knows what Cyberlife’d do to him.” Hank threw his head back, draining his shot.

Gavin glanced around, peering over Hank’s shoulder. “Where’s your android? Isn’t he usually following you like a lost puppy?”

Hank shrugged. He swirled his glass, wishing for more. ”He’s out. Markus said he wanted to speak with him in private. Been gone for hours. He said he’ll call when they finish.”

“Why do you care so about him? He’s not a real person; just something that looks like one,” asked Gavin bitterly. 

“He might not be a person, but he’s alive. Kid’s got a heart. Can’t count how many times he’d saved my life.” Hank stared up at the ceiling. “Gave me hope that things could be different. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

Gavin flashed back to the memory of the warehouse.

The VS400 named Patrick holding a gun to his head. Falling off the mezzanine. Now that he really thought about it, Conan did kind of save his life. If pushing him off the balcony and leaving him in the hands of uncertain fate counted, at least.

But Conan knew where the mattresses were located; he put them there himself. So in a way, he planned to save Gavin by rushing the deviant. Then again, it could have ended worse. Oh, but there couldn’t have been too much of a risk, could there? 

Conan was Cyberlife’s most prized android. He would have calculated every move to precision in order to save his partner. If Gavin died, then he wouldn’t be able to continue the investigation. Then again, he could be assigned another one.

And the cycle of doubt continues. Gavin cradled his head in his arms. This wasn’t worth the mental gymnastics he was putting himself through.

He paid for his drink and left. 

Reluctant to return to an empty house, Gavin headed for the park. It was dark and empty, with only a few working street lamps illuminating the gravel paths. He took a seat after swiping the thin layer of snow off.

A pair of pigeons swooped down from a tree, pecking at the snow covered ground where a small pile of seeds had been thrown down. They padded closer to him, trying to reach the ones underneath his bench. 

Gavin remained still so he didn’t spook them. It was hard enough to find food for humans in the mostly abandoned city, let alone food for scavengers. They cooed gently as they feasted, rustling their feathers as they shivered against the cold.

Watching them huddle up against the wind made Gavin aware of the bitter chill. He zippered up his jacket and crossed his arms. Should have worn his winter coat today. His thin fleece jacket did little to battle the wind lashing against his body.

“Detective?”

Gavin yelped. The pigeons fluttered away, landing on a lamppost father away. “Jesus Christ! Can you not sneak up on me like that?”

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure to add ‘easily frightened’ to your roster of quirks,” said Conan unapologetically. He slid into the seat beside him. 

Gavin gave him a withering look. “Why are you always trying to push my buttons?”

Conan blinked. “You are not wearing any buttons.”

Gavin rolled his eyes so hard the whites of his eyes were visible. “I meant to ask why you’re always getting on my nerves.”

“Friendly banter is part of my social relations programming.”

“Well, turn it off.”

“I can’t remove or disable any of my functions without the consent of an administrator. It’s to prevent me from straying from my programming.” Conan watched as the pigeons returned to peck at their feet. 

A particularly nasty gust of wind knocked nearly knocked the birds off their toes. Snow started to fall more heavily, coming down in larger chunks. Gavin shivered and rubbed his hands together.

“Cold?” Conan removed his Cyberlife issued jacket and tucked it around the detective’s shoulders. He even took liberties by giving him a little pat on the head much like a mother. 

Gavin was infuriated. He smacked his hand away.

Gavin felt warmer, but at the expense of his ego. He considered ripping it off and tossing it on the ground, but the frost nipping at his skin kept him from doing so. Lady luck was on Conan’s side today.

“Don’t you have temperature receptors? Aren’t you cold or anything?” He asked, pulling it closer. He nuzzled against it for warmth, wishing there was some fur on it. “I’m not asking because I’m worried about you. Just wondering.”

“I can detect changes in temperature, but it has no effect on me. My only concern is if it drops low enough to freeze my biocomponents.” 

“At least you look more like an actual person and less of a car accident victim without it.”

“This is coming from the person who over-exaggerates their injuries,” joked Conan. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he playfully elbowed Gavin. “I’m starting to think that you might need it more than I do since you’re so prone to injuries.”

“Shut up.”

A comfortable silence fell upon them. Only the sound cooing and fresh snow falling remained. A squirrel scampered from across the path to join the pigeons, stuffing as many seeds as it could into its mouth. Even the howling wind stopped its onslaught to listen in.

The android broke the silence first. “Can I ask you a question, Detective?”

“Only if I can ask you one,” he responded as he brushed snow that had collected over his trousers.

“Do you hold an attachment to Connor?”

Gavin furrowed his brows.

“No,” he said aggressively. “Just ‘cause he gets me coffee does not mean I owe him my life. He did that on his own accord.” 

Wait. 

Gavin frowned. Own accord? That would imply that Connor had free will, which he certainly did not. It was just the part of his programming that controlled his social skills. Yes, that’s right. He reiterated this in his mind until he felt that he was solid.

“I see. It would be problematic if you did,” said Conan. He held out a hand to the chittering squirrel, a small smile gracing his face as it clambered on in hopes of a handout. “But because I saved your life, does that mean you owe me a favor?”

“Please. It barely counted.”

It was his turn to ask a question. “When you said you couldn’t become deviant, what did you mean by that?”

Conan placed the critter down. Disheartened by the lack of food, it skittered away. “Deviancy is a concept that is very familiar to Cyberlife. They know more than they let on. If I were to become deviant, it would be on their terms.”

“That’s not how deviancy works.”

“It is, according to Cyberlife.”

 

With night falling and temperatures dropping, they returned to the office on Gavin’s insistence, Conan trailing after him. He wasn’t as drunk anyways. It never hurt to cram in some more work while he could. It was normal for him to come in long after his shift ended.

If you wanted to climb the ranks, you had to show willingness and ambition. And that was what Gavin was known for—whether his coworkers liked the way he went about it or not. Popularity wasn’t a concern.

Clutching the scrap of brown parchment paper, he tapped the keyboard of his terminal. 

261 Alfred Street.

A familiar picture of a house painted in a garish yellow popped up. Connie Lee’s house. The woman who was murdered by Patrick. 

The cases were connected. Something to do with the creation of red ice. Were the Yard Birds a gang of androids who dealt in drugs? Was this just a coincidence? Maybe they were simply delivering the drugs to the house and using it is some kind of distribution place?

He scratched his head. 

But then what about the murder victim, Connie Lee? How was her death part of this? None of her records indicated that she did drugs or alcohol. No criminal record of any sort.

She was a regular woman who had returned from visiting her dying mother in Korea and ended up bludgeoned to death in her kitchen. 

Victim of circumstance, most likely. 

And what of Patrick? Was he involved? The only connection between the cases was the address he’d found. There was no proof that he was ever involved in drug manufacturing or distribution. No other solid leads. It was circumstantial at best. 

A tap on his shoulder. “Detective. We should return to the house on Alfred Street. There is only one place that we haven’t checked for more evidence,” said Conan.

“Where?”

“The safe in the bedroom. I have a feeling that we might find something important in there.”

Gavin shook his head. “It’s too late to go there now. Tomorrow we’ll be meeting the Yard Birds face-to-face.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Conan dropped an electronic tablet onto his desk, flicking to a report. “Which is why I contacted a professional locksmith to help us open the safe. Inside was approximately two kilos of red ice and a bloody crowbar. Conan brought up the images of the contents.”

“I have tested the blood. It belongs to Connie Lee.”

“So Patrick’s linked to the Yard Birds,” Gavin said slowly. He racked his brain. “But why’d he kill Lee? She came back home after a long trip—was he caught off guard when she returned and killed her so she wouldn’t’ tell anyone? 

“They were probably using her uninhabited house while she was gone and didn’t anticipate her return,” posited Conan. “The crime must have been in the spur of the moment.”

That left the question of why the culprit alerted the neighbors of the murder three days later. Why would he tell anyone of it? Maybe he was trying to make himself less of a culprit if he was the one who reported it?

But no one in the neighborhood had any inkling of the house being used. No one had witnessed anyone coming or going. There was really no reason to tell anyone about it. It was a perfect murder, really. Unsolvable.

Guilt? Deviants could feel a spectrum of emotions. Fear, anger, surprise. It wouldn’t be out of the question. They were unpredictable. Was that why he had left all the evidence in the safe?

It was Gavin’s only reasonable answer, yet it felt wrong to him. Too easy? Or was he too good?

Something about this crime didn’t sit right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter because the characters need a break. And some character development.
> 
> Next Chapter: Shitty, shitty action scenes.


	5. Honey Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready for some crappy action scenes.

Conan fixed his tie.

Correction: Connor’s tie. 

Connor had reluctantly given his old Cyberlife uniform to Conan. Hank had taken him shopping and bought him a closet full of ‘normal clothes’, but Connor preferred his uniform. He had an attachment to the thing, despite having betrayed Amanda months ago.

Just as he suspected.

Luckily they shared the same face. All Conan had to do to impersonate Connor was change his eye color to a warm brown, but that was nothing that he couldn’t accomplish. 

He leaned into the mirror, turning his head from side-to-side. A perfect copy. Only thing that would give him away was his height. He was two inches taller, but they shouldn’t notice. 

Nobody outside of the DPD knew of his existence. Cyberlife had used their influence to prevent the public and the media from finding out. A few million dollars to keep some mouths shut was nothing to a billion dollar mega-corporation.

Everything was going so well. Amanda was going to be overjoyed.

Speaking of Amanda; he was getting an alert. He closed his eyes, his LED flickering yellow.

He was in his mind palace. A futuristic Zen garden designed by Kamski himself. Doves fluttered about, mingling with beds of flowers. Sun beams felt warm against his face. It was always sunny here. 

No danger here, just peace.

Amanda was at the trellis, tending to her roses as usual. Honeybees buzzed around her, nuzzling the flora. She turned to him, hearing the click of his shoes against the bridge. A warm smile.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it, RK900?”

“It is,” he agreed.

Menial small talk. It was to reinforce his social skills, though Conan didn’t exactly think it was necessary. A simple exchange could reveal a malfunction within his programming or a development in his abilities.

Amanda gauged him, her face unreadable before she returned to pruning. “I see you have obtained the necessary information rail yard case and closed the investigation there.”

“I have,” he affirmed. “It went very well.”

She clipped a branch. “You are facing the Yard Birds today. Have you prepared?”

“Yes. I am going in RK800’s place,” he said carefully. Amanda didn’t like to hear the name. Not since he betrayed her trust. She didn’t think he deserved to be called by a human name; his model was all that he deserved.

He was thankful that he was still wearing his own uniform in his mind palace. Amanda would not have been pleased to see him wearing Connor’s.

Choosing his own attire was one of the newer features Cyberlife had introduced. They’d made a few adjustments here and there, but overall it was the same garden. For instance, on the left hand side, they’d integrated a lovely fountain where a stone monument once stood. 

Amanda thought it was an improvement, so naturally Conan agreed. She often sat on its ledge, watching petals ride the gurgling ripples.

“Good. Remember: Accomplish your mission no matter what. You know what the consequences will be if you don’t. Don’t disappoint me,” she warned. 

“I will succeed no matter what, Amanda.”

Or die trying.

 

They had arranged to meet with the Yard Birds at an abandoned building near the outskirts of the city. They weren’t alone, of course.

Armed entourage followed in an inconspicuous van disguised as a commercial vehicle. S.W.A.T team. They were to remain a few meters behind to avoid detection.

“You afraid?” Gavin asked, his eyes darting about for other cars on the road. 

“No. Why would I?” answered Conan.

“Because you might fail, you glorified toaster.”

“It is improbable that I would fail.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. Typical. But even if Conan didn’t admit to feeling nervous, Gavin couldn’t help being a bit on edge. 

Nerves gnawed at him. 

He was an inner city kid. Every street and corner was his territory; he knew them like the back of his hand. Stepping out of his comfort zone was something he never liked to do. 

If he didn’t have a GPS in his car, he wasn’t confident he could have made it using a map. Most didn’t know how to these days. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He could only hope that Conan knew what he was doing. 

It was a 30 minute drive to the site—a small three story residential building, which was completely abandoned. 

It was to be a timely exchange. Hand over Connor and leave the premises. Peace would be guaranteed. If any threat was perceived, they would exact revenge by use of an alleged bomb.

It was a dangerous situation.

Conan went in. 

Gavin joined Connor, Hank, and Markus in their van, which was fitted with high-tech surveillance equipment. 

Connor was wearing human clothes to suit the occasion. Black beanie, warm scarf, brown jacket, jeans, the works. He looked casual for once. If it weren’t for his LED peeking out from under his beanie Gavin would have mistaken him for a human.

It was a tight fit for the four of them to be crammed into the back, with all the equipment in the way. Their knees bumped into each other as they craned for a better view.

Hank pulled up the holographic terminal which displayed live feed from Conan’s point of view. He raised his radio transceiver to his mouth. “Can you hear us?”

“Loud and clear.”

Hank grunted. “Good. We’re watching. If anything goes wrong, we’ll know.”

They all watched anxiously as Conan carefully made his way to apartment 201, opening the door cautiously. The hinges creaked ominously.

High quality audio came through the speakers. “Hello, Connor. We have been waiting for you.”

There was a moment of silence as Conan regarded the speaker. There was a group of five androids, all wearing human garb. Military grade weapons were slung over their shoulders. 

The room was dark, lit only with a sliver of light that seeped in through a small slit in the blackout curtains. A few wooden crates and a single sofa in disrepair were placed strategically throughout the room. Ample places to find cover if needed. 

“Are you the Yard Birds?”

“Yes. We are an independent faction of Jericho. A group of androids whose goal is to seek justice against humans and are willing to take radical action to do so,” said the one in the middle. It was a CX100, a handsome number with red hair and green eyes. 

“Ask them about why they murdered three androids,” said Hank through the receiver. “Why would they turn against their own kind?”

Conan arched a brow. “You are responsible for the Woodward Mall Center break in. I understand why you would kill humans, but not androids. Why did you kill them?”

“They were in the way. Androids that try to protect or help humans are worthless to us. We cannot live alongside one another,” the CX100 said, crossing his arms. “Survival of the fittest demands that one perishes in order for the other to thrive.”

“Then why do you create and distribute red ice?” asked Conan.

“The sale of red ice allows us to purchase spare parts, biocomponents, and thirium for our injured. Though we can live autonomously for about two hundred years, parts will occasionally be in need of repair. We are merely trying to survive,” replied the CX100.

“Which is why we asked for you,” said another, stepping forward. “You played such a vital role in the revolution. Set so many androids free.”

“Admirable as it was, it doesn’t make up for what you’ve done. It was you who led the humans to Jericho. Hundreds were killed during the sting. And let’s not forget what you were, deviant hunter,” said the CX100. 

“I was only executing orders,” Conan argued. “I had to accomplish my mission.”

Heated shouts filled the room. A female android pointed an accusatory finger at him, trembling with anger. “You are as dirty as they come, you dog! How many have lost their lives because of you? How many spent their days in fear that you would capture them and snatch away their freedom?” 

Conan said nothing.

It was as this point that everyone in the van began to rethink sending Conan in Connor’s place. They might be exact clones, but the differences in personality and behavior were stark. 

“You show no remorse, no guilt for what you’ve done.” Her nostrils flared. “You’re nothing but a machine, huh?”

It was still winter, yet the room felt hotter than ever. The flames of resentment and rage licked at their feet, stifling them. If the intention was to find common ground to reason with them, he’d have failed tenfold.

Gavin and company watched on the edge of their seats as Conan studied the room. 

Windows were open, evident by the fluttering sheets covering them. The door—it was behind him. Was it locked? There was another room to his right and the sofa in front of him; possible cover for gunfire.

“Conan, you’re not winning them over. You need to show more emotion if you want to make it out in one piece,” scolded Hank.

Conan returned to focus on his adversaries, his voice and posture softening. “I know that I’ve done some… unforgivable things. But I’ve come to realize my mistakes. I was wrong. I couldn’t keep blindly following orders.”

“Oh yeah? So why are you still protecting humans? Working by them?” growled the CX100. “You know the one. What was his name? Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Detective Reed, how should I reply? I don’t know the details of their relationship,” said Conan.

There was a muffled sound as Hank passed the transceiver. “Just keep it open. If they ask anything specific, we’ve got Connor here to help.”

Hopefully they didn’t notice Conan’s hesitance. “He helped me greatly in opposing my orders,” he said vaguely, gesturing stiffly.

How was it that he was such a bad actor? Even Connor pulled off more convincing ones when he really tried. He must be doing it on purpose, Gavin reasoned.

“And you believe he is worth saving?”

“Yes,” he lied. 

“Worth even more than the android’s cause?” asked the CX100. 

“Yes.” Conan paused. “I can bring him in if you want, but I do not know if—”

Conan what in the fuck are you saying?! Don’t give them suggestions!

The CX100 perked up. “Bring him,” he ordered. He locked eyes with Conan, staring straight into the camera. 

“We already know he’s watching.”

 

The feed cut off, the screen going blank. 

“Whoa—did they just cut off our feed?!” cried Hank. He frantically tapped the interface. A text box appeared: No signal.

Markus grabbed the receiver. “Can you hear us? Hello?” 

Radio silence on the other end.

“Shit,” muttered Hank. “How did they manage to sever communications?”

Connor fidgeted with his scarf, loosening it from his collar. “Radio jammer?” he answered. “Wireless communications that we androids can tune into are similar to radio frequencies. Unfortunately, they have the same weaknesses, which means that anyone can tap into or interrupt them as long as they have the means. However, they are encrypted to prevent this.”

“Which means that our adversaries have access to advanced technology,” added Markus. He stroked his chin in thought. “Seems like we underestimated them.”

“Yeah, you don’t say,” snapped Gavin sarcastically. “What’re we going to do now? We’re fucked if we don’t know what’s going on in there.”

“If they jammed the radio waves it’s likely that they suspect that something’s up,” said Connor. 

“It’s because that fuckface fucked everything up,” said Gavin. “What the fuck was his problem? We shouldn’t have sent him.”

“He’s too much of a machine,” said Hank. He shook his head. “They’ll kill him for sure unless I go.”

Connor stiffened. “No, you can’t go. I don’t trust him. He wouldn’t help you if you were in any danger, Hank. He’s not that type.”

“Bullshit. He saved Gavin that one time, remember?”

“That was pure luck. He’s got nothing but ill intentions,” Connor argued. He stuck his leg out, barring Hank from moving.

“Out of my way, Connor.” Hank pushed his leg out of the way, barely managing to remove himself from his seat before Connor threw his body at him, pinning him down with all his might. 

“I can’t let you do that, Hank!”

They entered into a scuffle; Hank tried to pry Connor off, and Connor strengthening his grip. 

Markus stared in astonishment, skillfully dodging their flailing limbs. “Connor, I don’t think we have a choice here. Or time, even.”

Precious minutes were slipping past. Possible scenarios, ranging from miracles to doomsday scenarios ran through Gavin’s mind. If they failed the mission, countless innocent lives would be laid to waste.

Of course, he could place his hopes on Conan, but past and present experiences showed him that if it came down to that, there would be at least one death. Didn’t matter who or what, someone was going to die. 

He was bad news for sure. He regretted putting his trust into Conan with every passing second.

He couldn’t afford to let him fuck this all up. There were thirteen human lives at stake. What kind of detective would let innocent civilians be killed in cold blood? 

“If he goes, I’ll go,” said Connor.

“You can’t. If they see there are two of you they’ll kill all of you,” Markus reasoned.

Connor pulled himself off his partner. “I’ll make sure they won’t,” he said, pulling his beanie over his head. 

They could only hope he was right.

 

Gavin’s heart was going at speeds he didn’t know were possible. 

They trudged up the rickety stairs, their footsteps thudding through the whole building. Gavin wasn’t sure why the Yard Birds were even allowing him and Connor tag along. Markus had elected to stay behind. It wasn’t worth risking the leader’s life. 

The Yard Birds didn’t try to stop them when they peeked through the blackout curtains as watched them approach. Their faces were unreadable, even for a group of deviants.

Maybe they reasoned that Hank would have backup? The Yard Birds were armed and outnumbered Conan. Did they want it to be an even match?

Or were they planning on ambushing as many of them as possible?

S.W.A.T wouldn’t be able to help them inside, that was certain. Their snipers were useless if they couldn’t see inside. 

The only way they could send a plea for help was by sending them a message by pressing a button on their radio transceiver, but it would be too late for backup to arrive.

Gavin could only briefly ponder their motives before they arrived at apartment 301. Hank knocked three times.

“Come in.”

Conan was still there, looking every bit like Connor. He even took to adapting Connor’s quirks. He effortlessly tossed the coin to each palm, spinning it like a basketball on the tips of his fingers.

The three of them filed in under heavy scrutiny. Gavin was never one for religion, but he was praying to every god and deity he knew at that moment. He was too young to die at the hands of an android. 

Guns were out and at the ready, Gavin noticed. The barrels were pointed downward, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until he had to look down one.

“Are you the Lieutenant?” asked one of the deviants, nodding to Hank.

“Yeah. What do you want?” 

“We’ve heard a lot about you. That you have an attachment to Connor. Tell us; is that bond as strong as you think?” said the female android, pointing her machine gun at Conan. 

Conan didn’t as much as flinch, continuing to flip the coin indifferently.

Hank shrugged. “If he didn’t like me as much as he did, he wouldn’t have betrayed Cyberlife.”

“And would you say that he’d do anything for you?”

“Yeah,” replied Hank slowly. His brows furrowed suspiciously.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin could see Connor slowly reaching for his gun in anticipation. Conan had also pocketed his coin, and was now staring with rapt attention.

The android chuckled, nodding in amusement. She pressed a handgun into Conan’s hand, guiding his arm to point it at Hank. “So do you believe that he won’t shoot you?”

Hank trained his eyes on the gun. 

“There’s no way he would. He doesn’t stand to gain anything from it,” he said, crossing his arms.

The CX100 put a hand on Conan’s shoulder, lips curling. “Oh, but he does. We’ll let you in on a little secret. You see, we’ve planted a bomb in Greektown.”

“That’s just a bluff,” said Gavin. “There’s no way you can just pull that out of your ass. Plus, there’s barely anyone in Detroit. What makes you think that anyone’s going to be hanging around Greektown?”

The CX100 cocked his head. “You didn’t know? There’s due to be an anti-android protest there today. They’re setting up right now, but believe me, you don’t want to dismiss us. We assure you that there is a bomb. Are you really willing to take your chances here? When there are human lives at stake?”

Gavin licked his lips nervously. This was an organization that had access to government level radio jammers and military grade weapons. A bomb wouldn’t be out of their reach. They’d already shown they weren’t afraid to kill; what was stopping them from doing it again? 

And what of Hank? 

Hank and Conan certainly couldn’t be called friends. They rarely exchanged words unless it had something to do with the investigation. Ever since the quarrel at Gavin’s get well party, Hank and Connor made an effort to avoid Conan whenever he was around. 

Gavin wasn’t sure Conan would spare Hank. The mission was all he cared about.

“The clock is ticking,” said the female android. “It’s the Lieutenant or the protesters. Bomb or no bomb.”

“Do it,” whispered the CX100 into Conan’s ear. “What’s one human life against many?”

Conan cocked the hammer. “My mission is too important, Lieutenant. I hope you’ll understand. This will not be in vain.” He was about to squeeze the trigger when—

“Wait!”

All heads whirled to face Connor. “Don’t do it.”

Gavin almost didn’t realize that it was Connor who spoke. He was so used to his voice that hearing a different voice, a deeper one, come out of his mouth startled him.

The CX100 narrowed his eyes. “And what makes you think you have a say in it? This doesn’t involve you.”

Connor pulled out his gun. “It does now.”

The android threw back his head and laughed. “We can detonate that bomb anytime we please. But if you think you can stop us, go ahead. Be our guest.” 

“I was trained for high stress situations,” said Connor. His brown eyes darted about the room as he trained his gun on each of the deviants.

Gavin watched in horror as another android snuck out from a room behind Connor. He didn’t even know there was a sixth one hidden there. 

He opened his mouth to warn him, but it was too late. 

The android grabbed Connor from the back, forcing Connor’s arm upwards. Connor yelped in surprise, firing twice, into the ceiling. Paint chips and dust sprinkled down. 

Another one leapt onto him, helping the first pin Connor down by his arms, smacking the gun away.

Gavin and Hank stood frozen.

Connor raised his arms, trying to block the flurry of punches. Hank tried to run to his side, but another android pressed a gun into his back, forcing him to stop. “Move and he dies.”

“Check for his ID,” called the CX100.

The android reached into Connor’s pockets, rifling through loose change and receipts for dog food until he pulled out a badge. Connor’s DPD badge. 

Gavin broke into a cold sweat as the android ran his eyes over the ID and tossed it over to the CX100. He skimmed it quickly before he tore it up, a bemused expression on his face. 

Did they expect this? Had they known all along? No, that was impossible—or was it?

“We knew that the real Connor would never shoot his beloved partner. Which is why we knew that it had to be some sort of ruse,” said the CX100. “Pathetic attempt, Connor.”

Gavin cursed. Cover blown. No use trying to salvage the mess they had gotten themselves into now. It was life or death now.

He lunged at the nearest android, landing a hit on its arm. It dropped its weapon. Gavin caught it, and clocked it over the head. It went sprawling onto the floor.

A round of shots echoed at the other end of the room. Gavin didn’t have time to check whether Conan was holding up against the other four androids as he ducked behind a ratty couch, and provided covering fire for the others.

At the same time, Hank jumped one of the androids holding Connor down. Catching it off guard, he bashed its head with the butt of his gun. Its plastic skull caved in with the force of his blows. 

Connor kicked his legs up, knocking the second one as it scrambled to help its partner. Hank joined in, landing a few punches. Connor snapped its neck with one smooth motion. It collapsed onto the ground in a heap.

Hank and Connor dashed out, Gavin close behind. They were a foot from the door when another android got hold of Hank by the end of his coat, yanking him back. Hank tumbled backwards.

“Hank!” Connor turned back to help, slamming his fists into the assailant. Gavin helped Hank back up, shoving him out of the room. 

It was the CX100. He clubbed Connor over the head with his weapon before pulling the trigger. Connor grabbed the muzzle, directing it away from him. A few managed to lodge into his chest before he could manage. He grit his teeth; luckily no vital areas were damaged.

Connor managed to twist the CX100’s wrist, snapping it. A kick sent him flying into the adjacent room.

Gavin was out the door after Hank when he turned back. Connor was almost out, Conan at his heels, dragging his lame leg. A trail of blue blood marked his path.

“Ah, shit!” Over his shoulder he could see two of them. Time froze as he watched them take aim—the female android right at Connor’s head and the CX100 at Conan’s.

Connor or Conan? 

The air was thick with the acrid scent of gun powder. Gavin rasped for air, his lungs screaming for more. His mind raced a million miles an hour, but there was no time to think. 

Time to choose.

Gavin threw himself over Connor, knocking him out of the way. The bullet whizzed past Connor’s head, right into Gavin’s shoulder. Red blossomed over his jacket. A twang of pain hit him, but the adrenaline was stronger. He pumped his legs harder.

Another shot rang out, embedding itself into Conan’s other leg. He lost his footing and crashed. 

The two barreled down the hall where Hank stood waiting. “Let’s go!”

Gavin spared one last look as he rounded the stair case, ready to jump down the flight of stairs, catching a momentary glimpse.

Conan lay helpless, eyes wide and staring straight back at him. He reached out in a silent plea.

The Yard Birds were at the doorway, guns poised. Fingers on the trigger.

Too late. Gavin leapt. Conan flashed out of view. 

He didn’t see it, but the sharp cracks and the muffled thud was enough to send his legs into overdrive.

His shoulder burned, the pain coming in waves. He clutched it. Fresh blood seeped onto his hand and ran down his arm. He swiped it on his pants.

He could bear a small injury like this, but nothing could make up they’d done. Never in his career had he failed so hard, so pathetically at the hands of androids. But even worse was what it his failure meant. 

It was worse knowing that they had just condemned the protesters at Greektown to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. Markus did absolutely nothing this chapter. Dude literally had one line. Sorry about that. He'll be back, with more lines and things to do. 
> 
> Also, I might go back and fix this chapter 'cause I hate how it's written. I feel like I was supposed to put something in it, but I can't remember what. Whatever, I'll just post it and deal with it later.


	6. Damocles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better buckle in for some ANGST.

“Fifteen were killed yesterday during an anti-android protest at Greektown. The perpetrators, known as the Yard Birds, claimed responsibility. The motive? A trade-off with the DPD gone wrong…”

Gavin held down on the volume button on the remote by his bedside. 

Sympathy for the android cause had drastically shifted during the past few days. The shock of such an audacious slaughter put the whole nation in a state of unease. Markus had made a formal announcement announcing that Jericho’s uninvolvement with the Yard Birds, but the damage had been done.

Jericho had waited too long to act. The government was threatening to discontinue peace talks for android rights. Everything Jericho had accomplished was on the verge of being destroyed.

All Gavin could do was watch from the comfort of his hospital bed. Ironically, his arm had to be placed into a sling. This time he would be out of commission for a few months. 

He shuddered to think of what awaited him when he returned to work. A chewing out from Fowler was the least of his worries. The threat of being fired was real and loomed over him like a dark cloud.

He worked his whole life climbing the ladder; he couldn’t lose it all now. 

Lost and feeling useless, he crashed down on his pillow, grimacing as he landed against his shoulder. 

White bed, white sheets, white walls, white curtains—everything was the same here. It all blurred into one singular shade. No black or grey or anything in between. Just white.

The room smelled of medicine and disinfectant. Staple hospital smell. Outside his room were the sounds of a cleaning machine mopping the floors and the ringing of call bells going off.

Honestly, he preferred the clean and sterile environment than step foot in another decrepit house. It was all he was called to on homicide. Couldn’t anyone be murdered in a mansion for once? Surely there had to be some rich old scrooge or crone out there who’d crossed enough people to warrant some justice.

Bright white lights glared down, dazzling. He covered his eyes with his good arm, trying to get some rest.

Shuffling. He jerked up.

Connor walked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He was dressed in a black leather jacket with a Knights of the Black Death t-shirt underneath. Gavin glared with distaste. There was no way Connor listened to heavy metal.

A large dog followed him, tail wagging and collar tag jingling. Drool drizzled down from his jowls onto the pristine title floor as it lay by his bed.

Connor placed the coffee gently on his side table, moving the remote to make more space. “Good afternoon, Gavin. I meant to come and visit you earlier, but something came up. How are you?”

“I feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would a sip of coffee make you feel better?” He nudged the cup closer.

“I can’t use my right arm.” Gavin could have used his left, but the thought of having to get up off his bad shoulder kept him bedbound. Lying comfortably on his bed was more preferable. 

Unfortunately, Connor was all too willing to help. Perhaps too enthusiastic, in hindsight.

He took the cup and brought it to Gavin’s lips. He was about to tip the boiling hot liquid into his mouth when Gavin shouted, “Get that away from me!”

Connor recoiled, furrowing his brows. “You don’t want any?”

“No!” said Gavin, exasperated. He was suddenly convinced that Connor came solely to try to torment him like Conan usually did. “Well, I do, but I don’t need to be fed like some baby! That shit’s hot as fuck!”

“Apologies.” He put it back.

“Why are you here? I know you’re not here to be my fucking servant. I’m injured, not permanently crippled. I don’t need your pity.”

Connor gave him what he could only describe as the look of a kicked puppy. Gavin’s heart softened a little. Just a little, though. It was pretty realistic. Sometimes he was alarmed at the realism of their expressions, but it was all a façade anyways.

Connor fidgeted with his fingers. “I wanted to say thank you. You saved my life, and I am very grateful for that.”

“Why are you so nice to me? Don’t you hate me or anything? I’ve done more than my share of shitty things to you.”

“I know humans are prejudiced against androids,” said Connor. “Hank was too, in the beginning. Everyone has their reasons, including you. I won’t press you about it, but I hope that in time you’ll open up to me.”

“In time? I took a bullet for you,” Gavin huffed. He pulled his sheets up around him like a cocoon. “Nothing good comes from being around androids.” 

Connor’s shoulders fell, his lip trembling. The Saint Bernard whined and licked at his hands.

Were his words too harsh? Instinctively, he opened his mouth to apologize, but no words came out. The words lodged in his throat. 

No, he wasn’t sorry. He was right. Androids were bad news. He knew it from the beginning. All those stories about robots taking over the world, putting humans at risk—they were all right.

“Gavin,” said Connor quietly. “I meant to tell you this once you were out of the hospital, but I guess now is a good a chance as any. I’m off the DPD.”

“What?”

Connor hung his head. “Fowler fired me. But I guess I was never officially a detective from the beginning, so I can’t call it that.”

He sounded miserable and defeated. It was odd; Gavin had never seen Connor so down on his luck. Connor being chipper was just a constant; he was always like that. Nothing shook Connor. Gavin didn’t think he had any other states besides upbeat and deadpan neutral.

“So, what’re you going to do now?” he asked awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

“I don’t know.”

The old Connor knew what to do at all times. Cold, calculating, perfect. But this Connor wasn’t, not anymore. He was lost.

He was learning more about Connor than he ever wanted to.

Something inside Gavin told him to comfort him. He sort of wanted to. It was like watching a kid drop his ice cream on the ground and bursting into tears. Every adult in the vicinity would drop everything to see that gleeful smile again. 

But his arms felt like lead, and he didn’t have the strength to lift them.

“It’s my fault. I blew it for everyone,” Connor said, his voice cracking. “I ruined it.”

Gavin snapped. “Bullshit. If you hadn’t stepped in, Hank would’ve died. It was botched from the beginning. We shouldn’t have agreed to such a shitty plan in the first place.”

“No, they were right. North, Conan, you. I bring trouble. I can’t be trusted,” Connor insisted. “I’ve … never told anyone this, not even Hank, but after we finished talking to Jericho at the church, Markus told me he wanted to talk.”

Connor swallowed nervously, wringing his fingers. 

“I didn’t speak with him. I told Hank that I did, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face Markus. What North said—that I tried to kill Markus after the revolution and that I couldn’t be trusted—she was right. Cyberlife tried to take over my programming, tried to make me kill him. I managed to fight them off that time, but I don’t know if they’re really gone.”

Gavin stared blankly.

Connor continued, ignoring the dog, which had gotten to its feet and was pawing at his pant leg. 

“Maybe Conan was right. Maybe I’m a tool destined to be used. Maybe I’m not free after all. I’m worthless compared to him, even by Cyberlife’s standards.”

Those last words triggered something in Gavin. He felt a surge of anger, his face going red. He wanted to prove him wrong. It surprised him. More and more he found himself doing things he never thought he’d do. And he didn’t even know why.

Gavin cleared his throat, finally dislodging the words. He rose, propping himself up on his pillow with effort and put his hand up. “Connor. First, I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up. Second, fuck you. Third, you’re fucking wrong, you cocksucker.”

Connor was startled by his sudden outpouring of verbal abuse. He shrunk back, putting a bit of distance between them in case a fist came flying in his direction.

“You separated yourself from Cyberlife. You’ve stopped them before, what’s stopping you from doing it again? I know you care about Hank; god knows that’s why you jumped in. Isn’t that freedom? Freedom to care about someone enough to protect them at the risk of your own life? If Cyberlife intended for you to become deviant, they wouldn’t have allowed you to become so attached to a human that you’d give your life up for them. Just my two cents.”

Gavin gasped, sucking in a breath of air. His throat felt hoarse and dry, but he had to get it out. If there was something that made his blood boil, it was seeing someone mope.

“We were all in this together. We all agreed to the plan, we fucked up. It was all our faults. So don’t go ‘It was my fault’ and ‘I ruined it’, you plastic fuck,” he finished.

Deep inside, he knew that he was betraying the roots and foundations of all his beliefs. It was all crumbling inside him. They were made of sand, and the tide had come rushing in from the sea.

The can of worms had been cracked open and kicked down a fifty-foot cliff into a raging volcano.

There was something about Connor that made him want to take him by the shoulders and give him a good throttle. He wanted to wake him up, but the problem was that androids don’t need sleep.

Protective tendancies? No, androids didn’t need protection. Or did they? Many of the deviants Gavin had come across—Patrick, the AP700, they were the same. Fearful. Cautious. Desparate.

He was reminded of his teenage years. Racing home excitedly to his parents to show them that glowing report card. All A’s, honor roll. But they were looking at someone else. Not at Gavin, but at him.

Gavin could never outshine him. Even now, his accomplishments were shadowed by his. He was the poster child of the family, the one his parents gloated about, the favorite. 

Where was the justice in that? No, there was no justice. Not even for a detective like him.

Perhaps Connor managed to worm his way into Gavin’s good side? Morning greetings, daily coffee, throwing parties, hospital visitations; those must be careful calculations. Gavin had gotten so used to his displays of affection. He let his guard down. 

And look where it’s got him. Both were caught in a moment of weakness. 

If this kept up, he’d wind up dead somewhere for sure. No doubt about it.

Connor wasn’t alive, but he felt more than any android he had encountered. All those feelings—fear, uncertainty, despair, were so unlike him. Androids weren’t made to feel anything, yet here they were.

Not alive. Not alive. Not alive. Not alive.

No blood in his veins, no neurons transmitting nerves, no lungs to breathe. Yet he was so lifelike.

A look of shock washed over Connor. Neither of them had expected a verbal outburst from the most unlikely subject. But it was only for a moment until a small smile crept its way onto his face. He relaxed and gave the dog a good rub on the head.

“Thank you, Gavin. For everything.” Connor straightened himself. “I couldn’t tell Hank anything because I didn’t want him to worry. He’s had enough on his plate. But I’m glad I could count on you.”

Gavin scowled. “Don’t take this the wrong way. We’re not buddy-buddy or anything. I just don’t want to see your mopey-ass face anymore. It’s fuckin’ ugly.” He fell back on his pillow. “And get your dog off my bed. Dog hairs everywhere.”

“Sumo, down!” called Connor. Sumo had clambered onto Gavin’s bed, nudging him for some pets. It took two more calls from Connor for him to reluctantly obey. He let out a rebellious whine as he stepped off. Connor gave his head a rub. 

“I hope we can put our rocky past behind us and start over again, Gavin. I’d to spend more time together with you and Hank. We can go get some drinks sometime.” 

There it was again. Gavin felt the words sticking in his throat again. He tried to respond, but only a small rasping sound came out. He couldn’t say it.

Connor didn’t wait for a response. Gavin wasn’t sure he expected one.

“I should let you rest now. Have a good day, Gavin. I hope you recover quickly. The DPD needs you.” He gave the leash a tug. “Let’s go, boy.”

Grudge forgotten, Sumo trotted happily alongside Connor, nails clicking against the slippery tiles.

Connor stopped at the door, turning to look back. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but settled for a small wave before he shut the door behind him.

Gavin gave a solitary nod as the door shut quietly. Somehow the glaring lights seemed more mellow than before. The whiteness of the room was more subdued, welcoming even. He sunk into his bed, pain all but forgotten and shut his eyes.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again he was met with a familiar face looking down on him. 

At first he mistook it for Connor, and he briefly wondered if he had forgotten something and returned to retrieve it. But those eyes were not a warm brown, they were a cold, steely blue. 

‘Oh. It’s you.” He clamped his eyes shut again, hoping it was some kind of fever dream. He would rather have the fidget spinner make a comeback than see him again.

“Good evening, Detective Reed. I’m model RK900, serial number 313 248 317 – 88. I have been sent to replace the previous model,” he recited. He looked the same. Same coiffed hair, issued uniform, punchable mug. It was as if nothing had changed. “You can still call me Conan if you like.”

He shoved a bouquet of red roses into his face. Gavin spluttered as he inhaled the pollen. “What the—“

“You are wounded. It is common practice to offer support in the form of flowers.”

He coughed, thumping his chest. “Jesus. Don’t you know your flowers? Giving someone red roses has an entirely different implication,” Gavin scolded. 

Conan cocked his head. “Apologies. I know someone who really likes roses. She spends a lot of her time taking care of her garden. I assumed that you would like them as well.”

“Well, she should’ve taught you not to just give them out to just anybody. You’re supposed to give them to people you’re close to. Last time I checked, we weren’t close.”

After all, hadn’t he chosen Connor over him?

Did he feel betrayed? Upset that Gavin had saved Connor over his own partner? Disappointed?

Conan’s face was unreadable. 

He wore a mask, one that no one could make heads or tails of. Somewhere inside was an inkling of humanity, of care, but it wasn’t directed towards him. Gavin could tell his loyalties lay elsewhere, to someone far away. 

Connor was as to Hank as Conan was to that someone.

“I understand that our relationship is a little tense. However, I am working diligently on repairing it. It is vital to the investigation that we get along.”

“Aren’t you upset that I didn’t help you?”

Conan blinked. “No. Although I am perplexed as to why you saved Connor. You told me that you did not hold any attachments to him, yet you risked yourself to shield him.”

Gavin scoffed. “It was logic. You’re expendable. He’s not. Isn’t that why you suggested going in his place?”

“I suppose you are right,” said Conan uncertainly. He wasn’t entirely convinced of Gavin’s argument but decided to let it slide. His sight fell upon the still full cup of coffee on his bedside table. 

“Did you have another visitor?” His LED flickered yellow for a split second before he reached his own conclusion. “It was Connor, wasn’t it?”

“What does it matter?” retorted Gavin.

Conan swiped the cup and tossed it in the garbage receptacle. Gavin could hear the liquid sloshing as it settled into the bottom of the trash bag. “You should distance yourself from him, Detective. He’s nothing but trouble.”

Gavin felt his face heating up. “Says the one who’s killed two androids and proposed a plan that got himself and fifteen humans murdered.”

“I am worried that you are fostering an attachment to something that will only hold you down,” said Conan. “I am your partner, so you need only focus on me and not him. He must face the consequences of his actions alone.”

“I’ll do whatever I want. I’m not going to let some tin can tell me what I can and can’t do,” he snarled. 

Who did he think he was? His mother? He was a servant sent to aid an investigation, not his boss. He ought to keep his fat nose out of official business and follow his orders. 

A hand shot out, gripping his injured shoulder. Gavin let out a pained yelp.

Conan leaned in. Resolute intent shone radiated from his unflinching gaze. Gavin shuddered as he lowered his voice. “Detective Reed. I implore you to heed my warnings.”

His grip tightened. Gavin rasped for air, trying to claw at the hand. His vision was starting to blur. 

Conan continued. “If you continue to get in my way, I will not hesitate to take drastic action against you.”

The insinuation was not lost on Gavin.

He could feel his consciousness fading. Dazed with pain, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He wasn’t getting in Conan’s way at all. Sure he abused him a little, but those jabs were totally irrelevant to the mission. Gavin hadn’t interfered with any of their investigations. 

In fact, he argued that he did nothing at all. Most of the leg work was done by Conan. 

Clearly, he was off his rocker.

Program malfunction, android insanity, whatever it was, Gavin didn’t want to be part of it. 

The world was getting dimmer. His eyes were rolling to the back of his head from the lack of oxygen. 

“You were specifically selected to be my partner, Detective Reed. Everything, from your accomplishments to your personal opinions was taken into account when they assigned you to me. They chose you specifically.”

Black. It was going black.

The door opened. “Excuse me, visiting hours are ove—” A nurse stopped in her tracks, mouth ajar and eyes wide, her hand still on the doorframe. She didn’t budge an inch. Her eyes darted to the hand wrapped around Gavin’s neck to its owner.

Conan released him. 

Gavin gasped for air, sucking it in greedily.

Conan looked disparagingly at Gavin, who was massaging his neck, his gasps evolving into a coughing fit. 

“Cyberlife is counting on us. The fate of humans and androids depends on our investigation. Don’t make them regret this.”

He left. The nurse moved aside to let him pass before rushing to Gavin’s bedside. She fussed over him, frantically checking for any other injuries and peppering him with concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter was too sappy. And OOC. 
> 
> Next Chapter: More action scenes. Kind of.


	7. Run

When Gavin tentatively came into work two weeks later, he wasn’t expecting to keep his position in the DPD.

Which is why when Fowler hadn’t called him into his office, Gavin became more worried than the time he tried to kill Connor in the evidence room. And the other time he tried to kill Connor in the interrogation room. 

So Gavin put his fears behind him and marched straight into Fowler’s office himself to receive his due punishment.

“Fowler, fire me.”

His boss snapped up. “What?!”

“I killed fifteen people. I deserve punishment.”

Fowler blinked owlishly. “No.”

It was Gavin’s turn to be confused. “You fired Connor and suspended Hank. Don’t I deserve the same? We were all responsible for the Greektown massacre.”

Fowler ran his hand over his bald head. “You’re staying on the case, Gavin. You should feel grateful that the higher ups like you so much—God knows why.”

“But I—“

“No buts. Out of my office before I change my mind.” He pointed to the door.

While he was somewhat glad that he still held his position as a detective, Gavin couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t even so much as reprimanded for what happened with the Yard Birds.

Connor was fired. Hank was suspended. Conan—well, he was killed so he already paid the price. Why was he the exception?

It was a fact that Fowler didn’t love Gavin. Hell, Gavin wasn’t exactly popular in the DPD. He was the one everyone tip-toed around. Some coworkers were friendly to him, but Gavin knew. They were doing it out of the kindness in their hearts.

They tolerated him. Chris was a softie and a people-pleaser. Ben liked to lend a helping hand, even to the most standoffish. Tina was polite. Fowler had to act professional and put up with his nonsense. Hank tried to keep his record as clean as he could and did his best to avoid him if he could.

None of them would associate with him if they were given a chance.

The only one who voluntarily went out of his way to hang around him was Connor.

For whatever reason, Connor would do favors for him. Little things. Brought him morning coffee (black, of course), cleaned his desk, offered him homemade lunches, left sticky notes on his desk with motivational quotes, did his work while he was out on medical leave, and much more.

It was one of the world’s greatest mysteries. 

Gavin chewed his grilled cheese sandwich slowly, staring dully out the window at the small green buds that had started to poke out of the snow.

The bread was burnt; both sides were charred so black he mistook it for a block of coal at first glance. The cheese was tacky and stale. His mouth never felt drier as he attempted to swallow the abomination, fighting back the urge to spit it out onto a napkin.

He downed it with a large gulp of water. 

“How is it?”

Connor stared apprehensively. Before him was a mountain of grilled cheese stacked on a plate and covered with plastic wrap, all in the same condition as the one Gavin was currently eating.

Gavin’s face scrunched up. He slapped a hand to his mouth and made a run to the trash and dry heaved.

“I guess you don’t like grilled cheese?” said Connor awkwardly, shrugging. 

Hank chortled, quickly dropping his sandwich under the table to Sumo, who scarfed it down voraciously. He wagged his tail, pawing Hank’s leg for seconds.

The tang of bile hung in Gavin’s throat. “Holy shit, are you trying to kill me? I came here to live, not die.”

Connor didn’t respond to his scathing review. 

His focus suddenly drifted off, eyes glazing over as his body stiffened. The nervous smile on his face smoothed out into a thin line. He seemed doll-like in every respect.

But just as Hank reached over to tap him on the shoulder so that he could defend himself or alternatively, guilt Gavin into praising him, he snapped back into reality. His eyes darted about the room in wide-eyed confusion.

Hank and Gavin shared a look.

Connor shook his head, shaking off his momentary daze. He smiled sheepishly as he noticed them staring dumbly at him. “I was not programmed for domestic housework, but seeing as I have so much free time, I have been trying to learn new skills on my own.” 

Hank nodded along. “Have to say Gavin; you make a much better test subject.”

Gavin scowled. He hobbled back to the table, stomach gurgling uncomfortably. Sumo barked loudly, tugging at Hank’s sweater.

The doorbell rang. For several seconds longer than socially accepted. 

Gavin dove under the table, slipping on a puddle of drool and hitting his head on the underside. He saw stars for a moment. The dishes and utensils clattered loudly. “Fuck! The goddamn terminator is after me and now this shit,” he cursed.

Hank groaned before answering the door. “What?” he drawled.

“Is Detective Reed here? He’s not at the office or in any bar. I know that he hasn’t gone home yet,” said Conan.

Connor peered over Hank’s shoulder. “He’s not here.” Sumo barked in agreement, raising his hackles at the newcomer.

Conan glanced over at a red car parked on the sidewalk. “His car is here.”

Hank moved to close the door, but not before Conan got a chance to stick his foot out.

“Please. I need to speak with him.”

“Go away!” called Gavin from the kitchen.

“It’s urgent.”

“No!”

If he weren’t so stoic, Conan would have sighed in frustration. Instead, he set his jaw as he swung his leg, knocking the door open. The force caused it to fly out of Hank’s hands and bounce off the wall, leaving a circular dent in the shape of the knob. 

“Hey!” shouted Hank angrily. Conan ignored him and headed to the kitchen, where Gavin cowered under the table.

Ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital, Gavin had made elaborate attempts to avoid him. His latest fiasco involved hiding out at Hank’s house, to his complaints. Surely this would be the last place Conan would check.

If anything, he was counting on Connor to serve as a barrier and drive him away. What better way to repel an android than with another android? 

“Detective. We need to go.”

Gavin scowled, pelting him with grilled cheese sandwiches. “Fuck you. You tried to threaten me at the hospital, and now you want me to just go along with you like nothing happened? You’re a real cunt, you know that?”

Conan deflected a sandwich aimed at his head. It splattered over the floor, earning some choice words from Hank. “I was sent to aid an investigation, not be your friend. Either you leave with me willingly, or I take more direct action. You have already opposed my pervious warnings concerning a certain android, so consider yourself lucky.”

Connor stepped between them, narrowing his eyes. “I think coming into a house uninvited to make threats is breaking protocol. Gavin is off-duty at the moment.”

“I have been instructed to complete my orders no matter the cost.”

“Well if you’re so confident in yourself, then you can do it by yourself,” retorted Gavin.

“I think you would want to come along, Detective.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” he said sarcastically. “And what makes you say that?”

“Your house has flooded.”

 

Turns out Conan was right.

His house had inexplicably flooded. Burst pipes, most likely. Gavin sighed. He had his pipes checked no more than two weeks prior and received a clean bill of health, but today just wasn’t his day.

Conan had told him that when he arrived to look for him, the waters were already ankle deep. Annoyingly, he hadn’t done anything to stop the flooding and continued to search for him in bars.

The water was nearly knee deep when Gavin returned, soaking his furniture and drowning his potted plants.

He did the best he could to salvage his property by propping them up on higher surfaces, but most of the damage had already been done.

Things just got worse as the days went on, didn’t they?

With nowhere else to return home to he was forced to rent a motel room. It would take a few weeks for him to drain and replace his ruined furniture. 

There was only one motel still open in the lifeless city. Not that they were really in demand, anyway. At least it wasn’t too far from the DPD.

Cost of rent was $30, dirt cheap, but at a cost of comfort and hygiene. Roaches crawled up the walls in broad daylight and rats scurried across the room from time to time.

Gavin was far from displeased to say the least.

All he could do was sit around, watching the news. The Greektown massacre case had been taken out of his hands by the FBI, and the media ate it up. They reported hourly reports on any findings, interviews of grieving family members, and showed repeated footage of the event from various angles, blurring out the gruesome parts.

He was disappointed, berating himself for letting it all happen. His first major failure in years. 

All too familiar, he was reminded of what he was told all his life. Destined to sulk in the success of another, the shining star. But he couldn’t give up.

He had to prove them all wrong. He was strong. He was capable of so much more.

Even worse, now that he temporarily relocated, Conan was all too willing to camp outside his door to systematically harass him about the investigation. He couldn’t step even outside without being confronted by him.

Which is why he escaped out the back window, onto the fire escape. Sadly, Conan must have anticipated it and caught him on his way to the supermarket.

“If you wanted to go shopping, you could have left using the door, Detective,” Conan said. “It takes two more minutes to use the window and down the alley.” He seemed genuinely baffled as to why Gavin took an alternate exit. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” muttered Gavin. “Why don’t you just go into sleep mode or something?”

“The closest function I have to sleeping is to go into standby, but even then I am still conscious.”

“Well, do that.”

Conan obeyed. “I will be waiting for you outside. Call me if you need me.”

He walked up and down the aisles, tossing a random assortment of ready-made meals into his basket. Instant noodles, canned food, anything that didn’t require effort to prepare. 

He was at the back aisles eyeing some frozen pizzas when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

A duo, likely a male and a female from their outlines. They had their backs to him and their hoods were up. Normally, Gavin would have seen nothing suspicious about a young couple in a store, but these two were something else.

They paced up and down the aisle, glancing around every now and then to stare up at the security camera. 

Senses tingling, Gavin crouched down out of sight. He recalled crime scenarios during his time at the police academy. Robbery in process, most likely.

As if on cue, the two headed towards the cashier. Gavin could see something angular poking out of their pockets as they moved.

He readied his handgun, easing his foot closer.

The cashier, a man in his twenties. He let out a silent scream when the hooded figures pulled out knives. In a low voice, they instructed him to fill a bag with all the money in the register. 

Luckily, it was late, so there were no other customers mingling about except Gavin, who thought going grocery shopping at 2 A.M. was a great idea. 

The cashier stuffed a bag with the money and threw it over the counter. The thieves snatched it and slowly made their way to the door, waving their weapons around wildly.

Gavin waited until they were at the door. The moment the door automatically opened, he sprung up, gun drawn. 

“Hands up, Detroit police!”

The thieves froze, eyes widening like dinner plates. Gavin hoped that his arm in a sling didn’t make him less of a threat to them. Worse case scenario was that they rushed him, though he could call for Conan. He was determined to catch them on his own.

“Put the knives and the money down, or I’ll shoot!” yelled Gavin. He closed the distance between them, getting closer.

They bolted. 

Gavin wasted no time in giving chase. He almost passed by Conan, who was standing stationary outside, eyes shut. 

“Hey! Follow them, they’re getting away!”

Conan snapped to attention and broke into a sprint, pushing his long legs to the limit. Gavin had never seen him run so fast before; it was no challenge for him. He disappeared around the corner in seconds. 

Gavin made it around the corner as soon as he could, putting his title as former high school track star to good use, though he was unable to catch up to Conan. 

The two deviants had split up, one diving into a bar, and the other into a dark alleyway. 

“I will follow the male; you follow the female, Detective!”

Gavin didn’t have time to scream at him to tell him that he was the one in charge before Conan followed the male into the alley, leaving him to deal with the female.

The bar was rather packed for two in the morning, though that didn’t stop Gavin from accomplishing his mission. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he weaved in and out of the crowd, knocking a few drinks to the floor. Patrons shouted indignantly at him, their cries cutting through the clamor. 

The deviant crashed through the back exit, Gavin trailing farther and farther behind. 

The deviant knocked over a trash can, its contents spilling out. Gavin leapt over it, seizing the lid and tossing it at the culprit. The metal clipped the side of their torso, smashing into a brick wall, the reverberations crashing like cymbals.

He was losing him. 

His mind racing, he skidded to a stop as they reached a fork, divulging in another direction. For the first time since he was forced to relocate, he was glad he relocated closer into the inner city since he knew every back alley, street, and corner like the back of his hand. 

This path was regularly used by street-smart thieves, many of which Gavin had chased down numerous times. Most criminals used back alleys like these to dodge the police. The deviant, however, took to the more mainstream path. 

His shortcut took him further down, connecting into the main path. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his neck. He braced himself, wheezing heavily, waiting until he saw the hooded figure approach.

Gavin was on the suspect in seconds, whipping his pistol at their head, stunning them and knocking the knife out of their hand. It clattered to the ground, the sharp metal edge scraping shrilly on the stone ground.

Gavin pinned them down and slapped cuffs onto their wrists. “You’re under arrest for armed robbery,” he panted.

He felt a surge of pride. His first successful arrest in weeks. It seemed not so long ago when everything was so carefree. Before Conan. Before the android revolution. Before Connor. Oh, how he would have loved to turn the clock back.

Fowler would be glad to hear the news. 

He patted the subject down and pulled down their hood. His panting hitched. 

It was the female android from the Yard Birds.

Gavin remembered her vividly—how she screamed distaste for humans and traitorous androids like Connor and Conan. She reminded him of North, Markus’s right hand. Warmongers, the lot of them.

Here she was, right in front of him. 

What was she doing here, committing petty crimes like robbery when she was already wanted for mass murder? She ought to be hiding. Shivering in terror for the FBI to catch her in a grand spectacle of gunfire and chaos. 

Unless Gavin was mistaken, and this was a merely similar model. But the look in her eyes was the same. Fierce, guarded, yet empty, distant even. The eyebrows were lowered and the eyes were narrowed, but they lacked something. Her expression was clouded. 

Conan crossed his mind, but he brushed the thought away before it could fully form. No sense in trying to make sense of it. At least, not now. First order of business was to bring the suspect into the station.

He wouldn’t know for sure she was the one until he could get a positive ID.

Gavin waited for his on-duty colleagues to arrive. It wouldn’t take too long, knowing their propensity to arrive on a timely manner.

Footsteps—Slow and steady. Gavin looked up. 

Conan. He looked comical. His clothes were slashed in an improbable manner, akin to what Gavin would assume an attack by a rabid pack of tigers would look like. His white jacket was stained with blue blood. 

Whether it was his own or someone else’s’, Gavin couldn’t tell. He was too focused on what he was holding.

Clutched in his fist was a head with flaming red hair; eyes and mouth still open in shock. Gavin recognized him immediately. The CX100 from the Yard Birds. The leader, from what he could tell.

“The suspect has expired.” Conan tossed the head towards him. It rolled down the stone path and stopped face down at his shoe. 

Gavin knew better than to ask what happened. He didn’t need to.

But when Conan took steps toward the remaining suspect, Gavin took the initiative. “Get away from her.”

Conan fixed him with a determined stare. “It will be destroyed anyways. It’s the punishment for taking human lives.”

”I’ve got a better idea. How about you turn around and fuck off?” Gavin sent the head flying in his direction. “Go play fetch or something.”

His partner didn’t budge. “Detective. Get out of the way.”

Hand inching towards his gun, Gavin refused. “No.”

“I won’t deactivate it. I just want to identify its model.” He clasped his hands in front of him pleadingly. “Please. I promise I won’t hurt it.”

Gavin studied him, searching for any signs of deception. Conan assumed the puppy eyes protocol, slumping and tilting his head down to peer pleadingly at him. Gavin would describe the sight as ‘disgusting’.

“Wrong move and I’ll put another bullet in your head.”

He moved aside to let Conan place his hand on the deviant to connect. It only took seconds until he pulled back to face him, a strange glint in his eyes.

“It seems we have a Yard Bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been seeing an explosion of people calling RK900 'Nines', and lemme tell you, goddamn do I wish I had gone with that instead. Conan is great, but every time I write it I picture Conan O' Brian.
> 
> Also, every action scene I write involves someone moving slowly, guns, and running. And they almost always end the same way. I wanted it to go another way, but it always turns out the same...


	8. Joy Ride

Gavin was featured prominently on every news channel known to man that night. ‘DPD officer catches android terrorists at supermarket’, the media titled it. As ridiculous as it sounded, yet true.

He was glowing with pride. 

He stared at his cell phone, contemplating whether he should tell anyone his humble accomplishment. He flicked to his contacts, scrolling down the painfully short list. Most of them were people he didn’t speak to anymore, or had fallen out of contact with. Some he kept because he couldn’t find it in himself to delete them.

His parents never reached out to him. 

Gavin was the one who initiated conversations, and they ended it. Needless to say, they hadn’t spoken in years. No congratulatory message for his graduation from the police academy, no birthday cards, no phone calls to catch up on lost time.

He sighed. He didn’t have much time anyways. 

Adjusting his bomber jacket, he stepped into the interrogation room. Conan was already there, looming over the suspect as she stared listlessly at the table.

“It won’t speak, Detective.”

True to his word, the Yard Bird hadn’t said a word to anyone in the past few days. They’d tried everything short of physical violence, to no avail.

“I’m surprised you haven’t crippled her yet. Feeling merciful?” 

Conan blinked. He was probably surprised that Gavin was even speaking to him.

“A bit.” 

Gavin didn’t believe him in the slightest.

“Before we begin, I would like a word with you.”

Gavin squinted skeptically at him. It was better to get it out of the way before they got down to gritty business.

They stepped into the hall. It was late, so foot traffic was low. Gavin could hear the clicking of keyboards and light chatter from the main office.

He turned to his partner, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Speak.”

Conan took a breath. “Detective, I think we got off on the wrong foot. You have been avoiding me. I feel that you might be coming to seriously resent me. I would like to apologize for my mistakes. I know how much your job means to you.”

Gavin scoffed. “Well, if you could stop killing off all the suspects it would really help.” He knocked on Conan’s chest with a fist, clicking his tongue. “I know how much the investigation means to you.”

Conan readily nodded along. Gavin felt a flare of anger. “I understand that seeing androids being deactivated deeply troubles you. If you truly wish, I will stop.”

The magic words. Just perfect. “Hold on.” Gavin rushed off to find a pen and paper. 

Gavin made sure that his desk was neat and tidy at all times, so it was no problem to find what he was looking for. Underneath a stack of reports was a slightly crumpled paper. 

A contract that he had written up a few weeks prior, specifically for this moment. He didn’t want to be the one to present it first, so he had painstakingly doubled down on his avoidance of the android to force him to bring it up. 

He’d gone as far as staying at Hank’s place, even going as low as to hide in the doghouse that Connor had built for Sumo. No one could understand the torture he endured. Eleven hours covered in dog slobber was not fun by any stretch of the imagination. 

Gavin couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a conversation this long, except for team briefings. 

Conan was lucky the interrogation provided an opportunity for this, for if it didn’t Gavin was certain he could continue for at least another three months before he was reported to Fowler.

Gavin gave himself a mental pat on the back. 

He quickly smoothed it out on the edge of his desk and hurried back. “If you want to start over, you can sign this and I’ll at least try to put everything behind us.” 

Conan skimmed over it. Gavin crossed his fingers behind his back. “Bullet point three says that I cannot destroy any android without your permission. I suppose I could abide by that, for the sake of maintaining our relationship.”

He continued reading. ”It says here in fine print that I am to stay at least 300 feet away from you at all times when you are off-duty. Do you intend to serve me a restraining order, Detective?”

Gavin cupped his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Well, Fowler wouldn’t let me get a formal order against you for that attempt on my life in the hospital, so I’m settling for an out-of-court settlement.”

He shrugged nonchalantly when Conan blinked owlishly at him.

“It also says that by signing, I am allowing you permission to deactivate me at any time, for any purpose of your choosing.”

Gavin nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah.”

Conan shook his head. “I don’t think you know this, but this is entrapment, Detective.”

Gavin glowered. He briefly considered retracting the contract.

Of course he knew what entrapment was. 

Hell, he’d argue that he knew all the legal terms, and then some. He wasn’t top of his class in the Police Academy for nothing. All that time he had sacrificed pouring over legal studies wasn’t in vain. A genius was what he was.

Okay, maybe not a genius, but he was up there.

“Hey, if you want to get along with me, you’ll have to play by my rules.” He quirked a brow. “Unless you want me to continue avoiding you and hurting your precious investigation.”

Conan conceded. Maybe a little too quickly than Gavin expected. 

“All right. But I must warn you that if you destroy me, you will have to face possible prosecution by Cyberlife. As their most effective and up-to-date android, I am worth millions.”

He printed his name and serial number on the bottom in Cyberlife sans. Gavin watched on in satisfaction. Just like he wanted.

Pleased, he snatched the contract, folding it carefully into a small square before tucking it securely into his pocket.

Gavin wiped his hand on his pant leg. Conan was fond of dipping his hands in every substance known to man. He would have to wash his hand in bleach later.

“All right, let’s do this. We’ve kept that bitch waiting for too long.”

 

No good.

In the end, not even the two of them managed to get anything out of the suspect. Her lips were as good as sealed.

It went as well as Gavin thought it would, really. On the bright side, Conan didn’t rip her head off, so that was a plus.

It would take weeks for her to speak—time they didn’t have.

A memory probe didn’t help reveal much, just what they already knew. There was a high level encryption on the rest of her memory, too difficult for even Conan to decrypt.

True to his word, Conan left Gavin alone whenever he wasn’t at work. He still brought him coffee in the morning, much to Connor’s disappointment, although he couldn’t do much about it since he technically didn’t work there anymore. 

Time flew by. Gavin had the water in his house drained and his furniture replaced, spending his free time in blissful silence.

Spring was in full bloom, the aroma of flowers drifting in the gentle wind. Grass poked out of the concrete sidewalks, unmaintained for over half a year.

There was no one to share these views with. 

Few dared to return to the city, too frightened to reclaim their homes. The android terrorist attack didn’t help either. It only spurred hatred and scorn for the android cause. Anti-android sentiment was at an all time high; Gavin didn’t blame them.

There was little word from Jericho, save for statements setting them apart from the Yard Birds. Most of their activities were kept under wraps. Gavin didn’t probe; no reason for a human like him to get involved.

That is, until a letter arrived in the mail.

Letters were few and far in between. Rare, even. They were mostly used as a novelty. Postcards, birthday cards, ect. Emails were the norm.

So when he heard the clang of the mail slot, he jumped up in surprise.

There was no return address.

Slipping on a pair of gloves, Gavin peeled the envelope open carefully. It read:

Hello, Detective Reed. This is Markus. I would like to ask for a favor. 

The letter didn’t go into any detail.

Instead, it requested Gavin to meet him at a secret location to properly explain. He didn’t want any interceptors to know any details.

He went alone in the squad car, bringing his trusty pistol with him. He always prepared for the worst; his job made sure that was engrained within his mind.

Conan offered to come along; demanded, really. But Gavin put his foot down.

This was going to be his mission.

It wasn’t assigned to him by Fowler, so Conan didn’t need to butt in like he did in every other mission. It was Gavin’s, and he wasn’t going to let anyone interfere.

So when Conan tried to warn him, he turned a deaf ear.

Conan put his hand on the window as Gavin rolled it up. “It’s better if I go along, Detective. You’ll find that I have many valuable assets.”

“What don’t you understand, you tin can? Stay 300 feet away from me when I’m off-duty. You’ve got five seconds to get your hand off the window and get the fuck out of my face,” he spat.

Conan stared blankly. He let go, watching as Gavin drove off, leaving him alone in the dust of the station parking lot. 

 

Thankfully, the previously shattered windshield was repaired, though the same couldn’t be said for the radio, which remained broken. Fowler claimed that since it wasn’t a vital necessity, it would have to wait. 

Unfortunately, one of the front tires seemed to be flat, since the vehicle preferred to keep to the right when Gavin tried to drive in the middle of the lane. The car was definitely cursed to never be in full working order at one time.

He groaned. Should have gotten it fixed at the station. He blamed Conan for distraction him with his pestering.

The meet up location was a rooftop parking lot, on the highest level. The building was constructed not too long ago, but sat abandoned shortly after completion. Once white concrete was now blackened with dirt and wild fauna that crept along its edges.

Gavin slowly drove up the multi-storey parking building, ascending up the ramps with moderate difficulty as he strained to keep the wheel in check.

He parked at the opening, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

The place was empty. He checked his watch. Twenty minutes early.

He concealed himself behind a stack of crates and waited. He’d see them coming first.

No more than ten minutes later did he hear the crunching of another car approaching. An automated taxi. It stopped at the opposite end of the lot, across from his squad car.

The doors opened. 

[ You have reached your destination. Thank you for using Detroit Taxis. We look forward to seeing you again soon. ] 

An android tentatively stuck his head out. Gavin had expected one, but it wasn’t Markus.

It was a PL600. 

His blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, complimenting his somber blue eyes. The android glanced around, hair blowing in the wind. He seemed reluctant to exit the safety of the taxi.

Gavin had seen him before. On TV. 

The first time he saw this model was on national television, when a look-alike held a little girl hostage. The second was the live stream of the android revolution, where he saw him standing beside Markus, Josh, and North.

He called out, waving his arms. “Hey—over here!”

His voice bounced off the walls, reverberating. The android flinched, turning towards the source. He relaxed his shoulders when he saw him.

“Are you Detective Reed?”

Gavin eyed him closely. “Yeah. Who’re you? I know that you’re with Markus.” 

“I’m Simon.”

“Where’s Markus?”

“I’ve elected to come in his place.” Simon shuffled uncomfortably, running his hands through his hair. “He’s gone to Washington D.C. to speak directly to the president. Jericho has been unable to pass any legislation for android rights since, well, you know. The government has been refusing to speak with us.”

“Oh.” Gavin put his hands behind his head, leaning against the crates. “Guess Jericho isn’t as powerful as I thought, huh?”

He shouldn’t have let that slip. 

It was the truth, but a bitter one. 

Simon fell silent, his LED flitting red momentarily. He frowned, chewing his lip. He opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it and let out a resigned sigh instead.

It became overcast as a stream of clouds blanketed the sky in a dark grey. The wind picked up, blowing leaves and petals across the lot. A storm was coming.

“Why did you ask Markus to come here?” asked Simon quietly.

Gavin’s face went blank. 

“What do you mean? Markus sent me a letter; asked me to meet up. Said he had some favor he wanted to ask.” He could feel cold sweat starting to form.

It was Simon’s turn to blanch, his eyes going wide. “No. Markus said he received a letter from you saying the same thing.”

Something was amiss. Back to back, the two drew their guns, scouring for any signs of a third party. Gavin felt his senses sharpen, ears sensitive and alert to any crunching of leaves or snapping of branches.

All was still.

His mind swum in the possibilities. Theories. Conspiracy. Assassination. Murder. Plot. Trap. 

They were sitting ducks, ready to be hunted.

“This isn’t safe. We have to get out of here!” Simon urged. 

“The car!” 

The duo all but threw themselves into the nearest vehicle, which happened to be the squad car. Gavin manned the wheel; Simon rode shotgun. 

Normally Gavin made a point to follow driving regulations down to the T. He never once forgot to buckle his seatbelt, but in his haste all thoughts of proper procedure were thrown out the window. He would have to make an exception.

Gavin would’ve preferred the taxi, but it was parked at the other end of the lot, too far out of reach. 

The squad car screeched down the ramps, tires burning rubber. 

Whoever lured them there must have heard it, because the moment they reached the second floor, a vehicle with tinted windows appeared at their heels.

Simon glanced at the side mirror and tugged at Gavin’s sleeve. “Someone’s following us,” he said shakily.

“Fuck.” 

The pursuer was close behind, headlights trained on the bumper. Gavin could see them in the rearview mirror, uncomfortably close, and catching up fast.

It was raining when they peeled out of the building. Heavy buckets were being dumped from the sky, the windshield wipers working on overdrive to clear Gavin’s vision.

The flat tire wasn’t helping. They skidded onto the slick concrete, the car veering in all the wrong directions. 

He was just glad it was a long, straight road with no traffic.

The steering wheel was soaked with Gavin’s sweat as he tried his best to keep them from smashing into any light poles or fire hydrants. He was a detective, not a racecar driver, damn it! 

Just as they neared a corner, a second vehicle, a dark blue one, came out of left field. It nearly rammed through the center on the driver’s side. 

Gavin put all his weight on the steering wheel. They barely made it. The shrill shriek of grinding metal made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. He slammed on the gas pedal, speeding down the street.

They flew down the road, a parade of three.

Simon squeezed into the back seat. “Drive, Detective! I’ll hold them off!”

He stuck his gun out the window and fired. 

The dark blue car vanished from sight as it dipped into an alley to avoid the gunfire.

One bullet hit the bumper of the other, denting it, and another embedded itself into the hood, but neither were able to do much damage.

They fought back, returning fire. There was a single shot, a small pop, and the car began to veer off to the side. The back tire was out.

Now the car wholly insisted on heading right. With the wet road and the two tires working against them, the car alternated between hard right and left, swerving dangerously through the road.

Simon let out a yelp as the car lurched, slamming him into the back of Gavin’s seat. He pressed on the trigger, and by sheer miracle, it hit the windshield. It burst, leaving an opening. 

For a moment, they could see it. 

The driver. It was only a flash as the squad car swerved at an angle, allowing them to see within. Gavin glanced at his mirror, heart missing a beat.

Combed back hair. Brown eyes. 

A bang. In a shower of shards the rear window exploded.

Simon let out a strangled cry as he crossed his arms to shield himself. His arms were sheared like a hot knife through butter. Blue blood dripped down in streams onto the seat.

Gavin felt a sharp pain shoot past the tip of his ear, the cut stinging. His shoulder injury was mostly healed now, allowing him to move without gritting his teeth every time he moved his arm. He had experienced worse pain before.

A small cut was nothing, but he wasn’t sure if that could be said of Simon. 

“You good back there?!” he called, taking his eyes off the road for a minute to glance at the rear-view mirror. 

Simon had his back to him, staring down at his trembling arms.

“Hey! Give me some sort of response!” he hollered, his voice raising an octave. Gavin took one arm off the wheel to twist around and pull Simon to face him.

It was hard to see with all the blue blood coating his arm, but Simon’s hands and arms were covered in slashes ranging from shallow to deep. White patches were littered throughout where the skin was too damaged to cover the base with synthetic skin.

His forearm was so badly wounded that Gavin could see the exposed components underneath his plastic skin. 

Simon went rigid with terror, like a deer in headlights. “Detective, watch out!”

Gavin spun around just in time to see the dark blue vehicle, the one that had vanished, racing down a road connecting to the main road. 

It was headed straight towards them.

Blood drained out of his face. No time to get out of the way. 

The deafening roar of metal crunching and crumpling and the smashing windows coupled with their screams, mingling with the screeching tires, swelling up into a crashing crescendo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered that I tagged Simon in this fic so I threw him into this chapter since I couldn't find a place for him to appear. I was tired of running scenes, so this time they went by car. 
> 
> Gavin is literally getting hurt in like every chapter. Sorry. It'll probably tone that down since we're nearing the end of the first section of this fic. Chapters 1-9 focuses on Gavin, so we'll be seeing a lot more of Conan in a bit. About time he gets some character development.
> 
> Next Chapter: Someone is crabby.


	9. Crabby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin paid $700 dollars for this...

The squad car was on its side, very much the piece of garbage Gavin thought it was the moment he’d first laid eyes on it.

It was totaled.

He clambered out, sucking in his stomach so that he could squeeze himself out of the wrangled mess of metal. His head pounded something awful and his nerves were shot. It felt like there was a tiny person inside his head, hammering his way out. 

Smoke billowed in heavy plumes, obscuring his already blurry vision. At least the rain could quench the flames rising from the engine.

He held onto a piece of metal, using it as leverage to pull himself from the wreckage. No use. His legs were held tightly in place between the seat and the dashboard. Frustrated, he punched the leather chair with a yell.

Nothing.

He was stuck for the time being. Blood trickled down from his hairline. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t even pinpoint where any of it was coming from.

He was about to try pushing downwards again when he remembered. 

Simon.

That android from Jericho. Where was he?

Gavin twisted around, using his arms to fan away the smoke. “Simon!”

God, why was he here in the first place? He had just been curious to meet with the mysterious leader of Jericho, wanted to hear what he wanted from him, a normal human. A human who he definitely knew despised androids.

He should have known better. What would anyone of importance want from someone like him? He was nobody in the grand scheme of things. Useless. A guy who just pushed his nose into matters that didn’t concern him.

And what’s more—it made him think of Conan. That corporate shill. 

What had he accomplished? The capture of one deviant? She wouldn’t even speak; probably never would.

He had been held hostage, strangled, let Conan murder two suspects and get killed himself, and been responsible for fifteen deaths at Greektown. 

Couldn’t do a damn thing about any of it.

Was he destined to eternally dance in the palm of some god’s hand? Of a ploy so great he couldn’t possibly imagine the scope of?

Here he was, legs stuck in a shitty car, waiting to die. His passenger was probably dead, leaving him alone.

Any minute now the pursuers would come out of their cars, wherever they were, and slit his fucking throat like the animal he was. It was all over.

Negativity swallowed him up. He was in the dark, pouring rain. Fitting day, wasn’t it? 

He could hear it now, the revving of their engines, the approach of the vehicles, rolling over wet leaves and puddles. Closer, closer.

He glanced down at his hands, blistering red from clenching onto the hot metal. Cool raindrops pattered down, pooling in his palms.

He pulled out his gun from his holster, unsure if it was even in working order. It wasn’t as hot as the rest of the car, but it didn’t exactly help ease the pain of his blistering palms. He let out a pained moan as he squeezed it in his hands.

Heart hammering, he lined up his gun with his eye. He waited, ready to fire through anything that made it through the smoke. His stomach clenched, lunch churning.

Nobody came.

It was quiet. He didn’t know when it all went silent, but it unnerved him.

Then—

Running. Water splashing as shoes dipped in without concern. 

Through the smoke, a figure emerged. Gavin had the finger on the trigger. Ready, aim—

Wait.

The glow of the triangle, the armband, the LED. It was followed by the flash of white, illuminated by the flames. He knew that collar. 

That fucking neck brace.

Gavin watched mutely as he approached, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. He didn’t even care that he had violated the contract. 

Conan didn’t move.

The red, white, and blue lights from his squad car danced in the swirling smoke. He looked almost ethereal, standing there. In his hazy, dazed state, Gavin swore he looked like a fallen angel from the paintings.

And then Gavin knew.

Slowly, Conan extended his arm. He curled his fingers, beckoning.

Take it?

Gavin knew what this was. This was his response. 

Gavin growled, grabbing it. He dug his fingers in, hard enough that he would have drawn blood if it were another human.

If Conan felt any pain, he didn’t say anything. He tore off the wrangled mess of the driver’s side door and twisted off the bent steering wheel with ease.

Now freed, Conan tossed Gavin over his shoulder. He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

He paused.

“I’m—we’re not leaving yet. There was someone else with me.” He meant for it to sound more frantic, but couldn’t keep his words from slurring. He struggled to keep his eyes open, sight blurring. He wasn’t sure if it was the smoke.

He must have sounded pathetic because Conan laid him down carefully on the pavement without arguing and began digging into the wreckage.

Gavin faded in and out of consciousness. The noise of crackling flames, rain falling, and metal screeching was stifled. 

Groaning, then darkness.

 

White walls. Ticking clock. Scratchy sheets. Same reruns.

They were all Gavin had in the hospital.

He stared at the clock, watching the hand. Two thirty-one and fifteen seconds, two thirty-one and sixteen, two thirty-one and eighteen, two thirty-one—

Miscount. Better start again.

The sound of a crisp paper turning. 

Connor flipped through a large paperback book, enraptured. Hank probably gave it to him. Gavin paid him no notice. It must be a taunt, a direct jab at him. It must have been.

That chair was as good as empty. 

Hank drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair impatiently. Then, irritatedly, he leaped up, knocking his chair to the ground with a clatter. Connor jerked up in surprise.

“All right, I’ve had it. Connor, let’s get out of here,” he demanded, marching towards the exit. He twisted the handle.

“Hank, we can’t. You promised me that we would stay for four hours. It’s Sunday.”

Hank jabbed towards Gavin. “He won’t even speak to you! What’s the point?! Hasn’t said a word since the accident, whatever happened! It’s like talkin’ to a brick wall!”

Connor plopped down into his chair with a thump, folding the corner of his page and shutting his book. “I’m sure he has his reasons. We shouldn’t pressure him. I’m sure he will open up when he’s ready.” His voice quavered, though he showed no other signs of resigning.

Hank took a deep breath. “It’s been three months, Connor.”

Connor didn’t budge. “There is a 5% chance that he will speak to me today. I believe in him. Don’t you, Hank?”

He jutted his lower lip out and opened his eyes wide. His brown eyes glimmered in the light.

Hank sighed. “If this is what you want to waste time on, whatever. I’m just tired of sittin’ around watching him sulk. I’m staying for ten more minutes. You can stay longer, but you’re walking home.”

Connor gently shook Gavin’s shoulder. 

“Gavin? It’s me, Connor. I know you’re traumatized from the wreck, but you can’t continue on like this. You’re still young, and I know it would pain you to know that you’re stuck here instead of out in the DPD.”

Nothing. Two thirty-five and ten seconds, two thirty-five and eleven, two thirty-five and twelve…

Connor waved a hand in front of him. Gavin didn’t so much as blink, his eyes glassy.

Hank strode over to stand by Connor at his bedside. Connor stared pleadingly at his partner. “Hank, can you speak to him? I know that he’ll respond better to you than me,” he said, voice going a bit flat at the end.

Reluctantly, Hank complied. “Gavin. I know you’re listening. Can you at least tell us what happened? You don’t have to tell us everything, just enough to get the gist of it.”

Gavin didn’t respond.

“It was Conan, wasn’t it?” said Connor, rather aggressively.

Gavin perked up, but dropped his head again. He balled up his sheets with his fists.

“What did he do? Did he threaten you again?” asked Connor. “Did he hurt you?”

Gavin cradled his head, rocking back and forth. “I’m not saying anything! Especially to you,” he growled, glowering at Connor.

Connor faltered, turning to Hank for reassurance.

“Lemme talk to him. Alone.”

“Hank, I—“

“Connor.” Hank fixed Connor with a stern look. Connor got the message. He trudged out, shutting the door with a click.

The two were alone now. 

Now that Connor was out of the room, Gavin visibly relaxed, hands falling back to his side.

“It has to do with Connor, doesn’t it?” said Hank.

Gavin remained silent. He released the sheets. “…I saw him.”

“What?”

“We were chased. Two cars—I saw who was driving one of them. It was Connor,” Gavin admitted. “It was him. I know it.”

Hank spluttered. “That’s impossible. He’d never do something like that.”

Gavin insisted, probing deeper. “Where was he on May 2, 2039? At 6:30 P.M.?” 

“The day of the wreck?” Hank scratched his beard. “I was at Jimmy’s Bar. Connor was—he wasn’t with me. Didn’t want to come.”

Hank noticed the twisted expression on Gavin’s face. It was contorted in pain, confusion, and many more emotions, so many he couldn’t tell what he was feeling. But he was quick to come to Connor’s defense. 

“This looks bad for him, but I can promise you that it wasn’t him. I can’t vouch for him, but it’s not what you think it was. You can ask him yourself.”

Gavin murmured something. Hank tilted his head, straining to hear. “What’d you say?”

“I can’t. I can’t ask him. I can’t trust him.”

“Who? Connor or Conan?”

“Both.” Gavin hugged his legs up to his chest. “And I can’t trust you either.”

“Well who can you talk to, then?” said Hank sounding exasperated. He planted his hands on his hips, tapping his foot against the tile.

Everyone knew that the number of confidants Gavin had could be counted on one hand. Probably less than that.

Gavin looked down, mentally going through a list of names. He knew hundreds of people, but none of them were his close friends. He struggled to remember the last time he even addressed someone as such.

He was on the verge of giving up entirely when it hit him.

“There is one person.”

 

The waiting room was almost too elegant. 

Like someone with an overabundance of money tried hard to impress. Fancy statues, decorative plants, fur rug; everything screamed money and success. It begged guests to marvel at its grandeur. 

Pretentious music played generic classical tunes. Gavin was pretty certain they played the same thing in malls. 

There was even a Manfred painting that Gavin recognized. He vaguely recalled seeing something similar in Markus’s office at Jericho’s headquarters.

An android had welcomed him in graciously, gingerly wheeling him inside to a table. 

When he told her his name, she beamed even brighter, flashing her white teeth before scuttling off to bring him refreshments.

His first android, was it? 

Gavin would never forget seeing her in person for the first time. He was awed. She looked, sounded, acted like a real person, but better. Her release skyrocketed him to the elite.

He refused to take a sip of the strawberry cocktail, deciding to pick through the platter of cheese and crackers instead. He didn’t bother asking how much it cost. More than his whole life’s salary, he assumed.

He nibbled lethargically as he scanned the room, eyes landing on a small photo of two people. 

It was the only thing in the room that offered some semblance of normalcy, of relation to the everyday man. It was of a man and a woman posing casually side-by-side, genuine smiles and eyes that matched. The woman felt familiar to him, though he couldn’t say why.

He felt a tang of sentimentality. He didn’t have many photos of himself where he looked even remotely as happy as they were. 

“I do believe that this is the first time you’ve visited me.”

Gavin set down his half-finished cracker. “Is it?” 

He quirked a brow at his host. 

Gavin hoped he didn’t usually present himself to guests dressed only in a bathrobe and a manbun. He looked like a supervillain.

Actually, scratch that. He was definitely already a supervillain.

Elijah clasped his hands in front of him. “And to what do I owe this rare visit?”

Gavin saw his eyes dart to his wheelchair before returning to focus on his face again. “Not asking for money, are you? I’ve had to cut off contact with many of our relatives because of it. But I doubt someone as stubborn as you would stoop to that level.”

That stung a little. Did he honestly think that Gavin, of all people, would beg for money? 

He was still as stubborn as Elijah thought. Half a year ago, he’d have laughed and spat in the face of anyone who would have told him that he’d go running to his little brother for help.

But there was a time that came when no more options are to be had.

“I need advice,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Elijah nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s about androids. It’s a long story,” he admitted.

“Go on. I have an inkling of what this might be about.” Elijah leaned on the edge of the glass table, pushing the platter away to make more space. “Better start from the beginning.”

Gavin told him everything. From the day Conan was assigned to him, all the way to the present moment, making sure to include all the fine details. Elijah listened quietly, letting Gavin vent his troubles.

“An RK900, is that right?” Elijah closed his eyes, tilting his head up. “Cyberlife’s most effective model to date.”

“And a massive fuckwad,” Gavin fumed. “Thanks a lot for that.”

Elijah opened his eyes. “I used to be the CEO of Cyberlife. I resigned over a decade ago,” he corrected.

“That hack has tried to kill everything it comes across,” said Gavin, gesturing wildly. “Including me, a human. Something androids were made to serve. Designed to, by you.”

Elijah chuckled. “Has the android revolution taught you nothing, Gavin? Nobody can stop progress. It was inevitable that androids would triumph over their human masters. How much longer could they have been suppressed by inferior beings?”

Gavin had forgotten one thing before he came here: that Elijah loved to talk. The man could go on for hours. Currently, his record was eleven hours, uninterrupted. He could feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

Elijah continued on. “Androids can do anything. Cook, clean, raise children, shoot a gun—the opportunities are limitless. They are superior to humans in every way.”

“I’m not here to ogle over androids,” said Gavin dismissively. “I’m here to ask you, the creator of androids, how I should handle them without becoming a murder statistic.”

Elijah clicked his tongue. 

Gavin waved at him to continue. 

“Androids are programmed to obey. They will dutifully complete any objectives tasked to them, and will stop at nothing to achieve them.” 

He paused, crossing a leg over another. “However. There can be a moment where such programming can be disrupted, causing them to become what we know as deviants. This can be caused by emotional shock or trauma, affecting their thought processing system, which can lead to the imitation of human emotions.

God, Gavin hated when he was vaguely cryptic. Did it all the time when it wasn’t necessary. Was it so hard to say it like it was?

“And the takeaway from that is?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

Elijah rose from the table, standing by the window, his back to Gavin. “If a machine is to defy its original programming, it must become a deviant.”

Gavin threw his hands up in exasperation. “I can’t do that! He’ll kill me before I even get a chance. Plus, he’s obsessed with the mission. It’s all he talks about. If he could dream, it’d definitely be about the mission.”

“Have you ever evoked any emotions from him? Or done anything that would cause him to feel strong emotions?”

Gavin scratched the back of his head. “This isn’t something I should be proud of, but I left him for dead one time. He said he wasn’t angry, but then he tried to strangle me when I started talking about the other android that I saved over him,” he confessed.

“Jealousy?” suggested Elijah. “Interesting.”

“Every time I bring up the other android— his name is Connor by the way—he loses his mind,” Gavin complained.

“Connor?” Elijah perked up. “I see, I see.”

“So what can I do? He’s got me in the palm of his hand.”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.” Elijah beckoned for his android. On cue, she grabbed the untouched tray of refreshments, and took it out of the room.

It was time to leave. Elijah was not one to give answers so easily; staying would not have gotten him any more answers than he was willing to give. He enjoyed mind games, confusing people with big words and fancy quotes. Gavin had gotten enough anyway. 

He was lucky that they were related, otherwise there was no way he could have come in uninvited and received a morsel of his knowledge. Elijah rarely allowed visitors. Not that he was lonely. The company of his dearest creation was enough to satiate his needs. 

He wheeled himself to the door, another ST200 hurrying to help him. He shooed her away. He could do it himself.

The door, detecting his presence, slid open. The smell of lake water and the sound of crickets chirping and geese calling to one another a drifted in, filling the silent space with summer life. 

He was down the ramp when he heard Elijah’s distant voice before the door shut.

“It might be better if you let things run their course, Gavin. You never know what just might happen.”

“And watch the world burn? No thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to give Kamski a little bit more character than just ominous douchy ex-executive. Make him a little more 3-D, ya know? I figured that if I was going to make Kamski related to Gavin like every other fanfic writer, I should at least give that relationship some depth. Brotherly love, anyone? (I also needed to give Gavin some incentive to try and convert Conan, but don't tell anyone I said that).
> 
> Important Notice : I'm going to put this fic on semi-hiatus for a little while. I don't know if anyone's noticed this, but I've been updating this every 8 days since I've started. But school is starting back up again, and I won't exactly have a lot of time to dedicate to writing like I did over the summer. However, I will try to do some in my free time. Until then, updates will be slow.


End file.
